"<?. 







^\.^ 



^^ 






->. t^ 



.v^^' -. 



-^^ 



^x-^ 



-Vl.' 



'ci-. 






c^. 



O . 



•^..'' 



^^ c^' 



.v^' ^^ 



^C- • ^ 



^" 






x\^- 



V .r> 



.-^^ 



•/'. 



-•> 






<r- 



o 0^ 



^'^■ 



c?-^ 



^ ' / . 



A' 






x\V 



/'. 



A 



.^^ 



-x\^ 



^^^■^ 









Cf 

'^^'. 



<* ~^T 






^s^'::j^<t. 



x^^. 



^OO^ 






^^ \ 



^r"^ 
% ,<^^ 



'<3 



c 



:^>^.^' 



•"oO^ 



^\^^ 



.^ 






y-- 



.^^ ^^... , 



OO 






'?'■' 



\' 









,A"' 



■^0 



>. X^ 



,> 



o>^^^. 



t" J) 






" , 









.c:^ 



% aX^ 



y^ 




f^^^^^^s^ -^^ ^ 



// 



M E M I 11 S 



OF 



THE LIFE 



OF 



WILLIAM WIET, 

ATTORNEY- GENE-RAL OF THE UNITED STATES. 



Br 



JOHN P. KENNEDY. 



A NEW AND REVISED EDITION. 



IN TWO VOLUMES. 

VOL. I. 



PHILADELPHIA: 
BLANC HARD AND LEA. 

18 5 6. 



Entered, according to the Act of Congre^ia, in the vear 1849, by 
LEA & BLANCHARU. 
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court ot ttie United States, for the 
Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



STEREOTYPED BY J. FAGAN. 

PRINTED BY T. E. AND P. G. COLLINS. 



(4) 



Cwchange from 

Cerrtra! Park Free Uby, 
OCs. 13,1931 



^ v^-^ 



/y 



TO THE 



YOUNG MEN OF THE UNITED STATES, 



WHO SEEK FOR GUIDANCE TO AN HONOURABLE FAME, 



'^\iu Srntnirs 



ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 

BY 

THE AUTHOR. 
Baltimore, April 12, 1849. 



PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION. 



%*,^WW>/Ww yv%rw^^/V^*~^rf 



The rapid sale of the first edition of these Memoirs brings 
a very agreeable testimony to the appreciation "which the 
public has made of the character of him whose life I have 
attempted to illustrate. 

In the preparation of the present edition, I have found 
necessity and opportunity for a revision of my work, which 
has enabled me to make some emendations ; to correct some 
errors, both of the printer and my own ; and now to offer it 
to the public in a condition, I hope, more worthy of that 
kind reception it has already met with. 

. J. P. KENNEDY. 
Baltimore, December, 1849. 






GOER GEO. BENKEFCT, Jr. 

POST ,516, VETERANS 

OF FOREIGN WARS 

FarmiDgdale, L.I. 



CORP. GEO. BENKERT, Jr. 

POST #516, VETERANS 

OF FORKIQH WARS 

FarmingdaJt, L- 1. 



CONTENTS, 

VOL. I. ' 

WHAA/WWSA/WN/VWWW 

Introduction 13 



CHAPTER I. 

Parentage of William Wirt.— His Birth.— Will of 
mony. — Autobiographical Memoir of Ten Years. — 



Schoolmaster. — Mother and Aunt. — A Thunderstorm 
Bladensburg. — The Dancing-Master. — A Ghost Story 
Slack Wire. — Lee's Legion.^The Youno^ Drummer.- 
in Georgetown. — Mrs. Schoolfield, — Mrs. Love and 
Life and its Images. — Mr. Dent's School. Charles 
Campbell. — The Peace. — Day Dreams. — Colonel Lee. 
in Montgomery. — Early Acquaintances. — Music. — A 



Jacob Wirt. — Patri- 
Bladensburg. — The 
— Old Inhabitants of 
— Performance on the 
—Mr. Rogers' School 
her Family. — Rural 
County. — Alexander 
— Mr. Hunt's School 

Fox Hunt 15 



CHAPTE'S'lIr 

Imaginative Temperament -H is St udies. — Wholesome Influence of Mr 

Hunt. — His Library. — Sketches by Cruse. — Verse Making. — First Lite- 
rary Effort, a Prose Satire on the Usher. — Its Consequences. — A School 
Incident. — A Victory. — Visit to the Court-Housc of Montgomery. — Mr. 
Dorsey — The Moot Court. — Its Constitution. — School Exercises 41 

(Vii) 



Viii CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER III. 

Friends.— Peter A. Games.— Benjamin Edwards.— Ninian Edwards.— 
Becomes a Tutor in Mr. Edwards' Family.— Useful Employment of his 
Time. — Studies. — Journey to Georgia. -=- Returns to Montgomery and 
Studies Law with W. P. Hunt.— Removes to Virginia.— Studies with Mr. 
Swann.— Is admitted to Practice by the Culpeper Court 49 



CHAPTER IV. 

His Library. — First Case. — Difficulties attending it. — Is assisted by a 
Friend. — A Triumph. — His Companionable Qualities. — Habits of Desul- 
tory Study. — Practises in Albemarle 57 



CHAPTER V. 

Albemarle Friends.— Dr. Gilmer.— Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Madison, and Mr. 
Monroe. — James Barbour, — Marries Mildred Gilmer. — Pen Park. — Dr. 
Gilmer's Library.— Hospitality of the Country. — Dangers to which he was 
exposed. — Character of the Bar. — His Popularity and Free Habits. — Fran- 
cis Walker Gilmer. — Thomas W. Gilmer, late Secretary of the Navy. — 
Dabney Carr and his Family.— Anecdote of Barbour, Carr, and Wirt.— 
State of Flu. — Death of Dr. Gilmer. — Rose Hill. — Letter to Carr. ... 63 



CHAPTER VI. 

Happy Life at Pen Park.- Misfortune.— Death of his Wife.— Religious 
Impressions. — Determines to remove to Richmond. — Elected Clerk to tlie 
House of Delegates. — New Acquaintances. — Patrick Henry. — Resolutions 
of Ninety-Eight. — Re-elected Clerk at two succeeding Sessions. — Tempt- 
ations to Free Living. — Trial of Callcnder for a Libel under the Sedition 
Law. — Wirt, Ilay and Nicholas defend him. — Course of the Trial. — A 
Singular Incident. — Judge Chase. — Nullification. — Fourth of July Ora- 
tion. — Embarrassed Elocution 73 



CONTENTS. ix 



CHAPTER VII. 

Elected to the post of Chancellor. — Value of this Appointment. — Rea- 
sons for Accepting it. — Col. Robert Gamble. — Courtship. — A Theatrical 
Incident. — Second Marriage. — Removes to Williamsburg. — Letters to 
Carr. — Resigns the Chancellorship and determines to go to Norfolk. . 86 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Commences Practice in Norfolk. — Professional Success. — Letter to 
Pope. — Comments on the Parsimony of Judicial Salaries, — Birth of his 
Eldest Child. — Religious Sentiments. — Trial of Shannon. — Singular Case 
of Circumstantial Evidence. — Removes his Residence to Norfolk. ... 98 



CHAPTER IX. 

The British Spy. — Enemies made by it. — Letters to Carr, with some 
Anecdotes connected with the Publication of the Spy. — His Opinion of 
that Work 105 



CHAPTER X. 

Success at Norfolk. — Project of a Biographical Work.— Patrick Henry.— 
St. Georo-e Tucker. — Letter to this Gentleman. — The Rainbow. — Lettei 
to Edwards 117 



CHAPTER XI. 

Increasing Reputation. — Dislike of Criminal Trials. — Meditates a Re- 
turn to Richmond. — An Old-Fashioned Wedding at Williamsburg. — Let- 
ters. — A Distaste for Political Life 131 



CHAPTER XII. 

Removes to Richmond. — A Professional Case of Conscience. — Defence 
of Swinney.— Chancellor Wythe.— Judge Cabell.— Letter to Mrs. W. on 
Swinney's Case.— Fondness for Music— Letter to F. W. Gilmer.— Recol- 
lections of Pen Park 140 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



Aaron Burr brought to Richmond. — Indicted for Treason. — Wirt re- 
tained as Counsel by the Government The Trial. — Some of its Inci- 
dents. — The Asperity of Counsel. — Extracts of the Argument 149 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Burr's Trial Continued. — The Principal Argument in the Case. — 
Notices of Wirt's Share in it. — Mr. Mercer's Testimony. — His Descrip- 
tion of Blennerhasset's Residence. — Other Incidents of the Trial. . . . 165 



CHAPTER XV. 

Public Agitation. — The Affair of the Leopard and Chesapeake. — Expec- 
tation of War. — Fourth of July. — Letter to Judge Tucker Wirt Pro- 
jects the Raising of a Legion. — Correspondence with Carr in regard to 
it. — The Project meets Opposition. — Finally Abandoned. — War Arrested. — 
The Embargo 190 



CHAPTER XVI. 

Increasing Reputation. — Mr. Jefferson Proposes to him to go into Con- 
gress. — He Declines. — Determines to Adhere to his Profession. — He De- 
fends Mr. Madison Against the Protest. — Letters of " One of the Peo- 
ple." — Unexpectedly put in Nomination for the Legislature. — Letter to 
Mrs. W. on this Event. — His Repugnance to it, — Is Elected. — Correspon- 
dence with Mr. Monroe. — Letters to Carr and Edwards 207 



CHAPTER XVII. 

His Service in the Legislature.— Preference for Private Life. — Letters 
to Edwards. — Literary Dreams. — Acrimony of Party Politics. — Educa- 
Hon. — Misgivings in regard to the Government 235 



CONTENTS. XI 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



Resumes the purpose of Writing the Biography of Patrick Henry. — 
Consults Mr. Jefferson on this Subject. — Letters to Carr. — New England 
Oratory. — The Sentinel. — Letter to B. Edwards. — Death of Col. Gam- 
ble.— The Old Bachelor. — Letters Concerning it 248 



CHAPTER XIX. 

The Old Bachelor. — Contributors to it. — Character of the Work. — 
Amusing Correspondence between Wirt and Carr in Reference to it. — 
Carr's Promotion to the Bench. — The post of Attorney-General vacant. — 
Wirt spoken of — His Thoughts upon it. — Letter to his Daughter. — Em- 
ployed by Mr. Jefferson in the Batture Case. — Correspondence with Mr. J. 
in reference to Duane. — Mr. Madison and Mr. Gallatin 263 



CHAPTER XX. 

The War. — Its Excitements. — Wirt Declines a Commission in the 
Army. — Volunteer Soldiery. — Life of Henry. — Burning of the Richmond 
Theatre. — Governor Smith. — Carr Appointed Chancellor, and Removes to 
Winchester.— Letters to him. — W. attempts to write a Comedy. — Judge 
Tucker's Opinion of the Influence of such Literature on Professional Cha- 
racter. — Difficulty of Comedy. — Professional Dignity. — Richmond Bar. — 
Anecdote of a Trial between Wickham and Hay. — Epigram. — Warden. — 
Letter to Carr. — Tired of the Old Bachelor. — Biography. — Letter from 
Judge Tucker on this Subject. — Incidents of the War. — British ascend to 
City Point. — Wirt Raises a Corps of Flying Artillery. — Letter to Mrs. 
W. — To Dabney Carr. — Gilmer, a Student of Law. — Letter of Advice to 
him 297 



CHAPTER XXI. 

Contentment. — Prosperous Condition. — Letters to Carr. — To Mr. Lo- 
max. — Opinion of Cicero. — Views of the War. — Extravagant Opinions. — 
Letter to Gilmer. — Campaigning. — Insubordination of the Militia. — Visit 
to Washington. — Congress. — Unfavourable Aspect of Affairs. — Madison. — 
Webster. — Aversion to Public Life. — Engagement in the Supreme Court. — 
Postponed 325 



ta 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

Visits Washington to Attend the Court. — Returns. — Peace Restored by 
the Treaty of Ghent. — Letter to Gilmer. — Resumes the Biography of 
Henry. — Diflaculties of this Work. — Scantiness of Material. — The Author 
weary of it. — Letter to Carr on the Subject. — Dabney Carr the Elder. — 
The Origin of the Continental Congress. — Peter Carr. — Letters to Carr 
and Gilmer. — George Hay Resigns the Post of District Attorney. — Wirt 
Recommends Upshur to the President. — Moderation of Political Feeling. — 
Mr. Madison Appoints Wirt to the Office. — Correspondence in Reference 
to this Appointment. — Makes his Debut in the Supreme Court. — Encount- 
ers Pinkney. — His Opinion of Pinkney. — Letter to Gilmer. — Letter to Carr 
on " The Path of Pleasure," and his Opinion of this Dramatic Attempt. — 
Correspondence with Mr. Jefferson on the Subject of the Biography. — Let- 
ter to Richard Morris 341 



CO 



-i-j. JL. 



^ OF FOREIGN ^WAf.§ 



1M^_ 



F?.rmii4^iiiUi 



COUP. GEO. L^ElS'Ivi^i^-^'. ^i'- 

POST ,>516, VETERANS 

OF FOREIGN WARS 



INTRODUCTION. 



A NARRATIVE of the life of "William Wirt will present us the 
career of one who, springing from an humble origin, was enabled to 
attain to high distinction amongst his countrymen. Whether the 
incidents of that career are sufficiently striking to communicate any 
high degree of interest to his biography, the reader will determine 
for himself in the perusal of these pages. Mr. Wirt's life was, in 
great part, that of a student. His youthful days were passed in 
preparation for his profession. His manhood was engrossed by 
forensic labours. Old age found him crowned with the honours of a 
faithfully earned juridical renown. 

His social life was one of great delight to his friends. It was 
embellished with all the graces which a benevolent heart, a playful 
temper and a happy facility of discourse were able to impart. With 
mankind, beyond the circle of his personal friends, he had no great 
acquaintance. He was not ' much of a traveller. Occasionally 
touching upon the confines of political life;,'* he' was, nevertheless, but 
scantily entitled to be called a statesman. !For twelve years Attorney 
General of the United States, and consequently a member of the 
Cabinet through three Presidential terms, his participation in govern- 
ment affairs went very little beyond the professional duties of his 
office. He had a strong talent and, with it, an eager inclination for 
literary enterprise. To indulge these was the most ardent wish of 
his mind; but the pressure of his circumstances kept him under a 

Vol. I. --2 (13) 



14 ' '""''iNfRobucfioN. 

continual. interdict. Wliat he has given to the world, therefore, in 
this kind,' is small in amount, art's '^'en-^nder conditions that should 
almost disarm criticism. The few works which he has left behind, 
however will be found to merit, as in his lifetime they received, the 
praise due to the productions of an instructive and pleasant writer. 

A life confined to the pursuits indicated in this sketch, may not be 
expected to charm the reader by the significance of its events. It is 
much more a life of reflection than of action ; more a life of character 
than of incident. I have to present to the world a man greatly 
beloved for his social virtues, the illustrations of which are daily 
fading away with the fading memories of contemporary friends, now 
reduced to a few survivors : a man of letters and strong literary 
ambition, but who had not the leisure to gratify a taste in the indul- 
gence of which he might have attained to high renown : a public 
functionary, who had no relish for politics, and who was, consequently, 
but little identified with that public history which so often imparts 
the only value to biography : a lawyer who, with a full measure of 
contemporary fame, has left but little on record by which the justice 
of that fame might be estimated. 

These are the chief impediments to the success of the task I have 
assumed. Yet I do not doubt that, from the material at my disposal, 
I shall be able to furnish an agreeable image of a man whose char- 
acter will win the affections of the generation which succeeds him, as 
it did of those amongst whom he lived. 



CORP. GEO. BENE EXIT. Jr. 

POST ^516, VETERANS 

OF FOREIGN WARS 

Farmingdale, Ij* I. 



LIFE OF WILLIAM WIRT. 



CHAPTER I. 

1772—1783. 

PARENTAGE OF WILLIAM WIRT. HIS BIRTH. — AYILL OP JACOB 

WIRT. PATRIMONY. AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR OP TEN 

YEARS. BLADENSBURG. — THE SCHOOLMASTER. MOTHER AND 

AUNT. A THUNDERSTORM. — OLD INHABITANTS OP BLADENS- 
BURG. — THE DANCING MASTER. — A GHOST STORY. PERPORM- 

ANCE ON THE SLACK WIRE. LEE's LEGION. THE YOUNG 

DRUMMER. MR. ROGERS' SCHOOL IN GEORGETOWN. MRS. 

SCHOOLFIELD. MRS. LOVE AND HER PAMILY. RURAL LIPE 

AND ITS IMAGES. MR. DENt's SCHOOL, CHARLES COUNTY. — . 

ALEXANDER CAMPBELL. THE PEACE. DAY DREAMS, — COLONEL 

LEE. MR. hunt's SCHOOL IN MONTGOMERY. EARLY AC 

QUAINTANCES. MUSIC. A POX HUNT. 

Those who best remember William Wirt, need not be reminded 
bow distinctively bis face and figure suggested bis connection with tbo 
German race. Tbe massive and bold outline of bis countenance, tbe 
clear, kind, blue eye, tbe ligbt bair falling in crisp and numerous 
curls upon a broad forebead, tbe bigh arcbing eyebrow, tbe large nose 
and ample cbin, might recall a resemblance to tbe portrait of Goethe. 
His height rather above six feet, bis broad shoulders, capacious chest 
and general fullness of development, were equally characteristic of 
his Teutonic origin. The ever-changing expression of bis eye and 
lip, at one moment sobered with deep thought, and in the next 
radiant with a rich, lurking, quiet humour that might be seen coming 
up from the depths of his heart and provoking a laugh before a word 
was said — these were traits which enlivened whatever might be sup- 
posed to be saturnine in the merely national cast of his features. 

( 15 } 



16 PARENTAGE AND BIRTH. , :i772— 1783. 

HLs father, Jacob Wirt, was from Switzerland:* his mother, 
Henrietta, was a German. Jacob, with his brother Jasper Wirt, had 
settled in Bladensburg, in Maryland, some years before the war of 
the Revolution. Jacob had six children, three sons and three 
daughters, of whom William was the youngest. He had gathered 
some little property in Bladensburg, and supported his family there 
chiefly by keeping a tavern, the avails of which, together with some 
small rents accruing from a few lots in the village, enabled him, in 
an humble way, to maintain a comfortable household. 

William was bom on the 8th of November, in the year 1772. In 
less than two years after this date, Jacob Wirt died, leaving a small 
heritage to be divided between his wife and children. His will, which 
is on record in Prince George's county, assigns to his wife Henrietta 
" one half lot of ground in Bladensburg, No. 5, on which the billiard 
room is built, and on which I am now building a new house." After 
her death this lot was to " be appraised and to descend to my eldest 
son, Jacob Wirt, provided he pay out of the appraised value of said 
house and half lot, to each of my other children, one equal part, 
share and share alike, to wit : to my daughters Elizabeth, Catharine 
and Henrietta, and my son Uriah-Jasper and William, — to each and 
every of which I give and bequeath one equal part of the appraised 
value of the above premises." The will mentions, besides this 
property, "the brick store in Bladensburg," rented at twenty-five 
pounds sterling per annum to Cunningham and Co. ; — and " my 
tavern in which I now reside, with the back buildings, stables and 
lot, also the counting house before the tavern door and the smith 
shop." We have also a reference to two lots of ground in " Hamburg 
near Georgetown," and some personal estate. 

This k? a summary of all the worldly goods which Jacob Wirt, in 
the year 1774, left to be divided between his wife and six children. 
Henrietta Wirt, the mother of the family, died before William attained 
his eighth year. How much of the property we have enumerated 
remained in the family at that period, we have no means of knowing. 
The whole value of these Bladensburg and Hamburg lots, we may 

• The name of Wirt or Wirth is familiar to tlie annals of Switzerland. 
The reader conversant with the liistory of the Reformation, will remember" 
the unhappy fate of Adam Wirth, the deputy bailiff" of Stammheim, and his 
two sons, John and Adrian, at Baden in 1524. 



Chap. I.] PATRIMONY— AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 17 

conjecture, amounted to no great sum, — perhaps not more than three 
or four thousand dollars. Divided, it afforded but small provision for 
each of the children. 

It is probable that William was born iu the little hotel of the vil- 
lage, mentioned in the will ; and as this building is directed to be 
rented out, we may suppose that the family moved, after the death of 
Jacob Wirt, to the "new house" on lot No. 5. I have, in vain, 
endeavoured to ascertain in the village, from its present inhabitants, 
the truth of these conjectures, or to identify either of the houses ■ 
referred to. 

There are but few memorials of the family left. Humble labour 
with its lowly roof and frugal board may find a happy fireside, but it 
has few chroniclers. What is accessible to us of the history of that 
fireside, in whose rays the infancy of William Wirt found a cheerful 
and healthy light, we owe chiefly, almost wholly, to a pleasant and 
playful memoir which the subject of it, then Attorney General of the 
United States, wrote at the request of his children, in 1825, to amuse 
them with recollections which, it is easy to discern, still more delighted 
himself. 

This little fragment of autobiography runs over the fii'st ten years 
of the author's childhood. It is a homely, warm-hearted remembrance 
of a simple time, sketched, with a lively pencil, by one who never 
lost sight in the zenith of a brilliant fame of his obligations to those 
who watched his fii'st steps and protected his earliest infancy. 

I shall extract from the se_remin iscences what I find useful to my 
present purpose,_wi thout ventur ing^ to submit the whole to the eye_ 
of the p ubhc^ They dwell upon incidents which, however grateful 
in the telling to that affectionate circle to whom the memoir was 
addressed, and who could find in it a thousand memories of family 
endearment, would, I am fearful, be considered sometimes too trivial 
to excite the interest of those who are strangers to the genial spirit 
and household mirthfulness of the writer. Even for the extracts 
which I may submit, I must deprecate, on this score, the too rigid 
criticism or fastidious comment of my reader, — asking him to re- 
member that a father, discoui'sing to his children assembled around 
their own hearth, on topics which derive their agreeable savour from 
their love to him, may claim a dramatic privilege from the critic, to 

2 * ' B 

I 



18 BLADENSBURG. [1772—1783. 

have his performance judged by its adaptation to the scene, the time, 
the place and the persons. 

"With this endeavour to forestall the judgment of the reader, — 
indeed to bespeak his good nature — towards what it is proposed to 
disclose of the memoii', I would remark, by way of comment on the 
greater portion of these extracts, that Mr. Wirt's character was, to 
the latest period of his life, singularly impressed by the %ivacity of 
his imagination. He was greatly sensitive to the influence which 
this predominance of the ideal had in shaping his career, and has 
endeavom-ed in the memoir, to trace the source of some distinctive 
ciu-rents of his life to the impressions made upon his imagination in 
childhood. Every one has felt these influences in greater or less 
degree, and most persons may be able to find in their own history 
some particular complexion of mind or form of habit and opinion 
traceable to such causes. In Mr. Wh't the effect of such influences 
was visible, in a very striking degree, to his friends. This may, per- 
haps, appear also to the reader in the course of this biography. 

Bladensburg has been, for many years past, a quiet, — I may even 
say, without meaning unfriendly disparagement — a drowsy and stag- 
nant little village, well known by its position on the wayside of a 
great thoroughfare to the national metropolis, from which it is but a 
few miles distant. It is somewhat famous in our annals, not only as 
a neutral ground where many a personal combat has decided what the 
world has chosen to call a point of honour, but also as the field where 
higher questions were put to mortal arbitrement, when the British 
army, in 1814, disputed with an American host for the possession of 
the capital. For many years past, — from a date before the com- 
mencement of the present century, — this village has been not only 
stationary in its gTOwth, but even falling gradually away under the 
touch of time. During a great portion of this period, it was enlivened 
by the daily transit of some half dozen or more mail coaches, plying 
through to and from the capital of the United States. Twice a day 
the silence which brooded over its streets was broken by the blowing 
of horns, the clamour of stable-boys hurrying with fresh relays of 
horses to the doors of rival stage houses, and by the rattle of rapidly 
arriving and departing coaches. But even these transient glories 
have vanished. The rail-road, which touches only on the border of 



Chap. I.] THE SCHOOLMASTER. . 19 

the village, has now displaced the old stage-coach, and the village 
slumbers are no Ioniser broken. 

Previous to the Revolutionary war this village had a different for- 
tune. It was then a thrifty, business-driving, little sea-port, profitably 
devoted to the tobacco trade, of which it constituted, at that day, quite 
an important mart. It was inhabited by some wealthy factors who 
had planted themselves there in connection with transatlantic houses, 
and whose mode of living, both in the character of their dwellings 
and in the matter of personal display, communicated a certain show 
of opulence to the town. 

Whilst it was yet in its flourishing era, William Wirt was one of 
the children most familiar to its firesides — a lively, shrewd, pleasant- 
tempered and beautiful boy, upon whom many eyes were turned in 
kindly regard, though with little foresight, perhaps, of that rising 
fortune to which he was destined. 

Touching these days he shall now speak for himself. 

His reminiscences begin at some three or four years of age, when 
he was first sent to school. It does not often fail that our strongest 
recollection of infancy goes back to the schoolmaster, — that high 
authority whose lineaments are indelibly stamped upon the memory 
of childhood. Who does not remember the awe and reverence with 
which his young imagination invested the pedagogue beneath whose 
sceptre he was first taught to bow ? To the child who, yet callow, 
looks tremblingly upon all beyond the roof-tree, the image of the 
schoolmaster is the embodiment of all power and all knowledge — 
teacher, sage, seer, magician. The trace he leaves of his form and 
face, his gait, his voice, his vestments, his uprising and down-sitting, 
incoming and outgoing, is not a thing of memory merely, — it is an 
assimilation of something into our organism, an incorporation of his 
identity with our own, which we perceive as we perceive ourselves 
some half century back. 

• Our present reminiscence, in the memoir, naturally begins with 
this image. 

" The schooDiouse was across the street at the farther corner of the 
opposite square. The schoolmaster was Elisha Crown, an English- 
man; a middle-sized man, stoop-shouldered, spare, rather thin-faced 
and of a dark complexion. He wore a suit of blue cloth, coat, waist- 



20 MOTHER AND AUNT. [1772—1783. 

coat and small-clothes, with black horn buttons, an old-fashioned 
cock-and-pinch hat, the pinch in front, far projected and sharp, a 
pair of silver shoe-buckles, — and was a very respectable looking old- 
fiishioned gentleman." This picture may remind us of Hogarth's 
''Politician," with "the pinch" so far projecting that the candle 
burns a hole through it. 

"The school was transferred about a mile into the country, on 
what was then the road from Bladensburg to Georgetown, "■ Jlr. 
Crown's house being on one side of the road and the school-house on 
the other — both of them log houses. The dwelling-house, or a house 
built on the same site, is now (1825) standing, and the foundation 
of the old sehoolhouse is still visible. The land and house belonged 
to my uncle Jasper Wirt, whose eldest daughter Mr. Crown had 
married, and whose dwelling, a single-storied brick house, was not 
more than a quarter of a mile off, and is also still standing." 

We pass now from the schoolmaster and his concerns, to an incident 
connected with this dwelling of Jasper Wu-t, and to a pleasant family 
picture. The minute recollection of this incident will illustrate that 
sensitiveness of imagination to which we have referred. 

" My mother had come over from Bladensburg, one summer even- 
ing, on a visit to my aunt, and after school I went down to join her. 
My aunt dwells upon my memory in strong colours. She was a tall 
and rather large-framed woman, with a fair complexion ^nd a round 
face, that must have been handsome in her youth. She was a native 
of Switzerland, and had a cast of character that made her worthy of 
the land of William Tell. A kinder being never lived. She was 
full of all the charities and courtesies of life, always ready to suggest 
excuses for the weaknesses and frailties of others, yet without any 
frailty or weakness of her own that I could discover. 

" She was religious, a great reader of religious books ; and had a 
large, old folio German Bible, bound either in wood or hard black 
leather, with silver or brass clasps. Often have I seen her read that 
book with streaming eyes and a voice half choked with her feelings. 

" On the evening that I am speaking of, there was one of the most 
violent thunderstorms I have ever witnessed. My aunt got down her 
Bible and began to read aloud. As the storm increased she read 
louder and louder. IMy mother was exceedingly frightened. She 



Chaf. I.J A THUNDERSTORM. 21 

was one of the most tender and affectionate of beings ; but she had 
the timidity of her sex in an extreme degree, — and, indeed, this storm 
was enough to appal the stoutest heart. One flash of lightning struck 
a tree in the yard and ripped off a large splinter, which it drove to- 
wards us. My mother shrieked aloud, flew behind the door and took 
me with her. My aunt remained fii'm in her seat and noticed the 
peal in no other way than by the increased energy of her voice. This 
was the first thunderstorm I remember. I never got over my mo- 
ther's contagious terror until I became a man. Even then, and even 
yet, I am rendered much more uneasy by a thunderstorm than, I believe, 
I should have been if my mother had, on that occasion, displayed the 
firmness of my aunt. I could not have been more than five or six 
years old when this happened. The incident and its effect on me 
show the necessity of commanding our fears before our children." 

Another incident — 

" On our way home from the schoolhouse to Bladensburg the road 
passed by an old field, on the outer margin of which a negro man had 
been buried who, it was reported, had been whipped to death by his 
master. Besides the boys, who went to this school from Bladensburg, 
there were several from the neighbourhood, and, amongst others, one 
whom I remember only as Zack Calvert. This boy had one evening 
been detained at school after all the rest of us had gone home, and 
had to pass the old field after daylight was gone. The next morning 
— full well do I remember how he made my flesh creep and my hair 
rise, by telling us that, in passing the field, the night before, he heard 
a whip-poor-will, which sate upon the gravestone of the negro, cry out 
' whip him well — • whip him well — whip him well,' — and that he 
could hear a voice answering from below, ' Oh pray ! ' — It was the 
first time that a superstitious emotion entered my mind, and I now 
recall how dreadfully sublime it was. My heart quaked, and yet 
there was a sort of terrible pleasure in it which I cannot define. It 
made my blood creep with horror to believe it : yet I would not have 
had it false. That terrible field was never afterwards passed at twi- 
light without a race, in which I, as being youngest, was always behind, 
and consequently most exposed to the danger and proportionally teril- 
fied. I do not yet hear a whip-poor-will, without some of these mis- 
givings of my childhood." 



22 OLD INHABITANTS. [1772—1763. 

These are trifles in the review of them; though not without some 
small interest in connection with the person who has thought them 
worth recollecting. They call to memory some characteristics which 
his personal friends will not fail to recognise. 

We have some pleasant descriptions of several merchants of Bla- 
densburg of the old time; — of Mr. Christopher Lowndes — the 
<' tall, spare old gentleman, in blue broadcloth and plush, and cocked 
liat" — remarkable for his politeness and suavity: — of Mr. Robert 
^ Dick, the silent, thoughtful man of business, residing in a beautiful 
mansion, "■ a long white house with wings, which stood on the summit 
of the Eastern Ridge which overlooks the town :" — Mr. Sidebotham, 
a stirring, busy, successful merchant, rosy from good living, who, in 
the old fashion of Maryland, had his bowl of toddy every day — a 
thorough John Bull, "proud, rough, absolute, and kind." "We have 
shorter notices of Mr. Henderson, Mr. Huett, and Doctor Ross, 
Messrs. Campbell and Rruce, factors, with good capital at command. 
— Mr. Ponsonby was one of the magnates of the village, — a handsome 
man, graceful, lively, well-informed, and somewhat of the most notice- 
able for his beautiful bay horse, bright silver spurs, stirrups, bridle 
bit and whip mountings, all of glittering silver — very taking to the 
eye of William Wirt and the other children of the village. 

In the humbler range of the inhabitants he has other equally plea- 
sant memories. 

" At the lower end of the town, towards Baltimore, the house 
nearest the Eastern Branch was occupied by old Mr. INIartin, whom 
we used to call Uncle Martin — why, I know not. The Eastern 
Branch is subject to heavy freshets, which have flowed up to Mr. 
Martin's house, and sometimes overflowed the whole village. One 
of the most surprising and interesting spectacles to me, in those days, 
was this old man wading up to his waist, during a freshet, and har- 
pooning the sturgeon. It was a whale fishery in miniature, and not 
less interesting to me at that date. ' The old man himself was an odd 
fish. He used to get fuddled and amuse himself with singing 'The 
Cuckoo's nest,' and attempting to dance a hornpipe to the tune of it. 
He was fond of me and petted me a good deal. I remember him with 
kindness. I became myself a hornpipe dancer by an occasion I will 
presently mention, and the old man was delighted to see me dance to 



Chap. I.] THE DANCING MASTER. 23 

' the Cuckoo's nest/ sung by himself. His second daughter was a 
beautiful girl, whom I can just remember. The oldest son of my 
Uncle Jasper was in love with her, and I have a recollection of having 
heard him take leave of her, when he was going to sea to seek his 
fortune. He was accompanied by my eldest brother. They never 
returned, nor were ever heard of afterwards." 

" I must not forget Colonel Tattison, as he called himself in Maiy- 
land — Colonel Degraves, as he called himself in Virginia, — the 
French dancing-master, whom I remember as a most symmetrical, 
elegant, and graceful person. To teach the new-fashioned minuet 
which he introduced into Bladensburg, he used to mark, for begin- 
ners, a large Z on the floor of the dancing-room with chalk, and that 
letter gave the figure of the dance. The house in which the school 
was kept stood some several hundred yards from where I lived, but 
whilst I was yet in petticoats, I used to steal away from home to 
see Tattison dance his minuet, — ]\Iy eldest sister, a beautiful bru- 
nette, not then fully grown, was one of his scholars, and very nearly 
as good a dancer as her teacher. It is not in imitative childhood to 
admire any thing as I did the minuet, without learning immediately 
to dance it; and, of course, being a mere child, I soon became a 
subject of admiration myself as a minuet dancer. I remember that 
at the wedding of the eldest daughter of that John Martin, whom I 
have mentioned, my sister put a cocked-hat on my head, and took me 
out to exhibit me and herself in the French minuet — the gi'aceful 
management of the hat, putting it on and off, being an essential part 
of the dance. The old schoolmaster, Mr. Crown, was present, and 
being much dissatisfied with the admiration lavished on the French 
dance (solely because it was FrencK), he took out a lady to show how 
much superior the old English minuet was. That was danced in the 
figure 8, and, like the French, by a gentleman and lady only. In 
passing each, other in the centre of the figure, there was a moment 
when the gentleman and his partner were back to back. The 
minuet time and step being very slow, this uncourtly relation was 
continued until the parties arrived at the ends of the figure and 
faced about. 

'' Mr. Crown considered it the quintessence of politeness to abbre- 
viate this period, by setting off in full run to gain the upper end and 



24 GHOST STORY. [1772—1783. 

present his face. The old gentleman's dress — his sharp cock-and- 
pinch, his long-waisted blue coat, his red waistcoat, very long, and his 
very short breeches — gave him an air so grotesque, whilst executing 
this run to the extreme end of the room, as to produce an explosion 
of laughter. Such — as Camden says on a somewhat different occa- 
sion — was the plain and jolly mirth of our ancestors !" 

Here follows a ghost story — 

" There was another incident to which this wedding gave rise. A 
dance was given, on a subsequent night, to the wedding party, at our 
house. When the company had danced themselves weary, Tattison 
proposed to close the evening by raising a ghost. The matrons 
objected to it, as a light and impious trifling with solemn subjects; 
but Tattison assured them, with equal gravity, that he had the power 
of raising any ghost they would call for, and that he could give them 
conclusive proof of it : that if any one would go up stairs and consent 
to be locked up in the room farthest removed from the company 
below, the stair door should also be locked, so that no possible com- 
munication could be held between the person above and those below. 
After this the company might fix on a ghost whom he, the operator, 
would cause to appear to the person up stairs. The graver part of 
the company still discouraged the experiment; but the curiosity of the 
younger and more numerous prevailed, and nothing was wanting but 
a sitter up stairs to enable the Frenchman to give proof of his skill m 
the black art. After some hesitation amongst all, a Mr. Brice of 
Alexandria agreed to be closeted. He was accordingly taken up 
stairs. The door of the room into which he was introduced was 
locked, and after that the door of the stair below, which opened from 
the stairs upon the dancing-room. Tattison then asked for a shovel 
of live coals, some salt, brimstone, and a case-knife. Whilst these 
things were getting, he proposed that the women should, in a whis- 
pering consultation, agree upon the ghost to be raised, and report it 
secretly to him. This was done ; and the ghost agreed upon Was to 
be that of John Francis, a little, superannuated shoemaker, who had 
died some few years before — in his latter days a ludicrous person, 
whose few remaining locks were snowy white, with a nose as red as 
Bardolph's, and eyes of rheum — and who was accustomed to sing, 
with a paralytic shake of the head and tremulous voice, — 



C;iAr. I.] A GHOST STORY. 25 

' What did we come here for? v. iiat did we come here for? 
We came here to pritile prattle, 
And to make the glasses rattle ; 
And that's what we came here for.' 

" The iiabit of drinking was so inveterate upon him that ho had 
not been able to walk for some years before his death, except with 
the help of another, and then with but a tottering step. The annun- 
ciation of his name was answered by a half-suppressed laugh around 
the room. The difficulty of the Frenchman's task was supposed to 
be not a little increased by attempting to make John Francis's ghost 
walk alone. He, hoAvever, nothing daunted, began his incantations, 
which consisted of sprinkling salt and brimstone on the coals, mutter- 
ing over them a charm in some sort of gibberish, and knocking 
solemnly on the stair door with the butt of his case-knife. These 
strokes on the door were as regular as the tolling of a bell, each 
series closing with a double knock ; then came a pause, another series 
of knocks closed by another double stroke, and so on to the end of 
the ceremony. 

'' The process was long and solemn, and there was something in 
the business itself and in the sympathy with the imagined terrors of 
the witness above, which soon hushed the whole assemblv into a ner- 
vous stillness akin to that of young children listening to a ghost story 
at midnight. In about half an hour the ceremony was closed, in a 
shower of blows and the agitated cries of the Frenchman. Brice was 
heard to fall on the floor above. The Frenchman rushed up stairs at 
the head of several of the company ; and there our sitter was found 
on the floor in a swoon. He was brought to with the aid of cold 
water, and on reviving said he had seen a man enter the room with a 
coal of fire on his nose, and on his forehead written in fii-e the name 
of John Francis. — It was agreed, on all hands, to be very strange; 
and many shook their heads significantly at Tattison, intimating that 
he knew more than he ought, and that it was not very clear he was 
fit company for Christian people. No one was disposed to renew the 
dance, and the party broke up. The Frenchman, with his characte- 
ristic politeness, flew to the door to help the ladies down the steps, 
when he saw, standing outside of the door, close at hand, a gigantic 
phantom an-ayed in white and arms stretched wide, as if to receive 
him. He shrieked, leaped from the steps and disappeared.'' 

Vox. I. — 3 



26 THE WIRE DANCER. ' [1772—1783. 

This was plot and counterplot. — Next comes that wonder of child- 
hood, the Wire Dancer, with his balancings and other accomplish- 
ments. 

" About the same period when Tattison was figuring in our "v-illage, 
we had another exhibition still better fitted to gratify my love of the 
picturesque, and awaken whatever of fancy belonged to me. This 
was Mr. Templeman, a dancer on the slackwire. The exhibition was 
in Tattison's dancing-room. We got there at early candle-light. The 
room was brilliaiitly lighted. A large wire fastened at each end of 
the room, near the ceiling, hung in a curve, the middle of it within 
twelve or fifteen inches of the floor. I remember the pouring in of 
the company till the room was filled, as the phrase is, ' with all the 
beauty and fashion of the place.' Still better do I remember, after 
a note of preparation from another room, which bespoke and com- 
manded silence, the entree of Templeman — a tall man, superbly 
attired in a fanciful dress ; of a military air, with a drum hung over 
his shoulder by a scarlet scarf. It was such a picture as I had never 
seen. Saluting the company with dignity, he placed himself upon 
the wire ; then giving a hand to his attendant, he was drawn to one 
side of the room, and, being let go, swung at ease, — beating the drum 
like a professional performer. He performed all the usual exploits, 
balancing hoops, swords, &c., — and, to crown the whole, danced what 
I had never seen before, a hornpipe, in superior style ; — his spangled 
shoes, in the rapidity of his steps, producing upon me a most brilliant 
efiect. My own imitative propensity came again into play, and I 
became a celebrated hornpipe-dancer before I was six years of age ; — 
meaning by celebrated, such celebrity as spread through about one- 
third of our little village. The image of Templeman arose before 
me as something of another age, or another sphere when, about forty 
years after I had seen him swinging in such splendour on the wire, I 
met in Washington a well-dressed gentleman-like person, somewhat 
corpulent, who was made known to me as the paragon of my child- 
ish admiration, converted into a plain citizen^ and an extensive dealer 
in city lots." 

We have now some pictures of the Revolutionary war. 

" Before I left Bladensburg to reside in it no more, which hap- 
pened in my seventh year, another event occurred which i-ests vividly 



Chap. I.] LEE'S LEGION. 27 

upon my recollection. This was the passage of Lee's Legion through 
the village. I presume this occurred when Lee was detached from 
the north to support G-cneral Greene in the south. I remember the 
i long line of cavalry in the street, the large beautiful horses and fine- 
looking men in uniform, and a particular individual who was pointed 
out to me as a relation to my family. His hair was loose, long, black 
and frizzled, and flowed over his broad shoulders, sweeping down to 
his saddle. General Lee, whom I knew well in after-times, has re- 
peatedly mentioned this individual to me as an officer (a subaltern, 
i perhaps) of great merit; which fixes the fact that the cavalry I saw 
; was of Lee's Legion. It extended along the street until the head of 
I the column had turned the corner at the lower, the southern, extrem- 
j ity of the village, before the rear came in view : — a spectacle well eal- 
I eulated to fill the imagination, and stamp itself deeply on the memory 
of a boy of my age. 

" It must have been at the same time that a body of infantry of 
ilie Continental army, was in Bladensburg, — perhaps, also, a part of 
Lee's Lemon; ; There was among them a doctor whose name, it strikes 
me, I have heard mentioned as a surgeon in Lee's corps. The only 
thing, in the way of rebuke, I recollect to have ever received from 
my dear mother, was occasioned by an incident connected with these 
troops. The continual musters of militia in Bladensburg, with the 
drum and fife, had made me a drummer from a period so early that I 
have no recollection of its commencement. My ear was naturally 
good, and I was a singer for the amusement of company from the 
time that I could speak, and perhaps sooner. The accuracy of my 
ear and my imitative propensity kept me drumming on the tables and 
on the floors and singing the common marches of the time,'with such 
directness and dexterity that it attracted the attention of others. An 
old gentleman whose name I cannot now recall, drew out of his bosom 
one day, a pair of small drumsticks, which he had had made for me 
and painted blue, and gave them to me as a present. I had no drum, 
but with these sticks I pursued my drumming exercise with such efiect 
that I could soon beat time as accurately as any drummer in the army. 
This was the state of my proficiency when the troops aforesaid marched 
through Bladensburg'. Pushing and peering about them, I found 
"nyself, one day, at the baker's in a room where the soldiers were 



■I 



28 MR. r.OGERS' SCHOOL. 11773—1733. 

drinking, and where there were drums and fifes in plenty. The baker 
was a merry-hearted man, and, upon seeing me, had a drum and fife 
paraded, and the drumsticks put into my hands. I set to beating, 
with the accompaniment of the fife too. It was my first exhibition. 
I performed with so much animation and success that the soldiers 
were astounded. The drum-head was soon covered with as many 
pieces of silver coin and pennies as filled both my hands. It was on 
occasion of my carrying these home in triumph, that my honoured and 
beloved mother gave me a rebuke against taking money presents, 
whicli fashioned my character in that particular for life." 

"In 1779, I was sent to G-eorgetown, eight miles from Bladens- 
Imrg, to school — a classical academy kept by Mr. Rogers. I was 
l)laccd at boarding with the family of J-Ir: Schoolfield, a quaier. 
They occupied a small house of hewn logs at the eastern end of Bridge 
street." Friend Schoolfield was a well-set, square-built, honest-faced 
and honest-heai'ted quaker : — his wife one of the best of creation. A 
deep sadness fell upon mo, when I was left by the person who accom- 
panied me to Georgetown. When I could no longer see a face that 
I knew, nor an object that was not strange, I remember the sense of 
total desertion and foriornness that seized upon my heart — unlike any 
thing I felt in after years. I sobbed as if my heart would break for 
hours together, and was utterly inconsolable notwithstanding the ma- 
ternal tenderness with which good Mrs. Schoolfield tried to comfort 
me. Almost half a century has rolled over the incident, yet full well 
do I recollect with what gentle affection and touching sympathy she 
urged CA'ery topic that was calculated to console a child of my years. 
After quieting me in some measure by her caresses, she took down 
licr Bible and read to me the story of Joseph and his brethren. It 
is probable I had read it before, as such things are usually read, — 
without understanding it. But she made me comprehend it; and in 
the distresses of Joseph and his father I forgot my own. His sepa- 
ration from his family had brought him to great honour, and possibly 
mine, I thouglit, might be equally fortunate. I claim some sense of 
gratitude. I never forget an act of kindness, and never received one 
that my heart has not impelled me to wish for some occasion to return 
it. So far as my experience goes, I am persuaded, too, that doing an 
act of kindness and, still more, repealed acts to the same individual, 



Chap. I.] MRS. LOVE AND HER FAMILY. 29 

are as apt to attach the heart of the benefactor to the object, as that 
of the beneficiary to the person who does him the service. It was so 
in this instance. I went to see Mrs. Schoolfield after I became a 
man, and a warmer meeting has seldom taken jilace between mother 
and son 

'^ I passed one winter in Georgetown, and remember seeing a long 
line of wagons cross the river on the ice. I conjecture that it was 
the winter of 1779-80, and that these wagons were attached to the 
1 troops already mentioned, which were going to the south. I remem- 
ber also to have seen a gentleman, Mr. Peter, I think, going out gun- 
ning for canvass-backs — then called white-backs — which I have seen 
in those days whitening the Potomac, and which when they rose as 
they sometimes did for half a mile or a mile together, produced a 
sound like thunder. I mention this — being struck with the different 
state of this game now on the Potomac." 

This school of Mr. Kogers left no pleasant impression on the mind 
of the pupil. He remained there less than one year, changed his 
boarding-house, and, getting from under the eye of good Mrs. School- 
field and her household, fell into associations with others not so kind. 
Kichard Brent, Esq., a gentleman once distinguished in the House of 
Kepresentatives, but long since dead, was a fellow-student at George- 
town school. 

The recollections now carry us to another quarter. 

" From Georgetown I was transferred to a classical school in Charles 
county, JMaryland, about forty miles from Bladensburg. This school 
was kept by one Hatch Dent, in the vestry-house of Newport Church. 
I was boarded with a widow lady by the name of Love, and my resi- 
dence in her family forms one of the few sunny spots in the retrospect 
of my childhood. Mrs. Love was a small, thin old lady, a good deal 
bent by age, yet brisk and active. The family was composed of her 
and three maiden daughters, of whom the eldest, I suppose, was verg- 
ing on forty, and the youngest, perhaps, twenty-eight. She had a 
son married and settled in the neighbourhood. The eldest daughter 
was named Nancy, a round, plump and jolly old maid, who was the 
weaver of the family, and used to take a great deal of snuff. The 
second was Sally. She presided over the dairy, which was always 
neat and sweet, and abundantly supplied with the richest cream and 



3* 



30 RURAL LIFH. 11TT2— 17S3. 

butter. Sally was somewhere about thirty, short, rosy and brisk, with 
a countenance marked by health and good-humour, and with one of the 
kindest hearts that beat in the bosom of her kind sex. She was fond 
of me, banqueted me on milk and , cream to my heart's content, ad- 
mired my songs, and sang herself. From her I fii-st heard Roslin 
Castle. Her clear and loud voice could make the neiehbourhood vocal 
with its notes of touching plaint. From her, too, I first heard the 
name of Clarissa Harlowe, and she gave me, in her manner, a skele- 
ton of the story. Peggy, the youngest, was pale and delicate, with 
more softness of manners than the others. She was the knitter and 
seamstress of the household ; of very sweet disposition, with a weak 
and slender, but kindly voice. She did not sing herself, but was very 
fond of hearing us who did. There were two boys of us near the 
same age. Johnson Carnes was rather older and larger than me. He 
was a good, difSdeut, rather grave boy, with better common sense than 
I had. But he did not sing, was rather homely, and had no mirth 
and frolic in him. I, on the contrary, was pert, lively and saucy, and 
they used to say pretty withal — said smart things sometimes, and sang 
two or three songs of humour very well. One was Dick of Danting 
Dane, in which the verse about ' my father's black sow ' was a jest 
that never grew stale, nor failed to raise a hearty laugh. Another 
was a description of a race at New Market between two horses called 
Sloven and Thunderbolt. Sloven belonged to some Duke — perhaps 
the Duke of Bolton. The verse ran, as I remember — 

' When Sloven saw the Duke his master, 

He laid back his ears and did run mucli faster.' 

" Besides my singing, I danced to the astonishment of the natives, 
and, altogether, had the reputation of a genius. Thus admired, flat- 
tered and feasted with milk and cream, Roslin Castle and Clarissa 
llarlowe, &c., what more could a child of my age want to make him 
happy ! The very negroes used to be pleased to contribute to my 
amusement. Old Moll carried me to the cowpen, where she per- 
mitted me, with a clean, broad splinter, prepared for the purpose, to 
whip the rich froth from the milk-pail ; and her son G eorge, after a 
hard day's work in the field, came home at night and j)layed the horse 
for me, by going on all fours, in the green yard, with me mounted 



CiiAi'. I.] I\li;. DKiNT'S .SCHOOL. 81 

upon his hack, — he going through the feats of an imaginary fox-lnuit, 
sounding the horn and leaping over imaginary fences, gates, &c. — all 
of which was life and joy to me. To crown all, I had a sweetheart ; 
one of the prettiest cherubs that ever was born. The only thing I 
ever thanked Nancy Love for, was giving me the occasion of becoming 
acquainted with this beautiful girl. She took me with her once on a 
visit to her aunt Eeeder. Mr. Thomas Seeder lived on the banks 
of the Potomac, just above Laidlowe's, and opposite to Hooe's Ferry. 
In those days, there was a ferry from Recder's to Hooe's. The 
house was of biick, situated on a high, airy bank, giving a beautiful 
view of the Potomac, which is there four miles wide. Peggy Reeder 
was the only child of her parents, — about my own age, rather younger, 
and as beautiful as it is possible for a child to be. We fell most 
exceedingly in love with each other. She was accustomed to make 
long visits to her aunt Love, and no two lovers, however romantic, 
were ever more happy than we. On my part, it was a serious passion. 
No lover was ever more disconsolate in the absence of his mistress, 
Qor more enraptured at meeting her. I do not know whether it is 
held that the aifections keep pace with the intellect in their develop- 
ment; but I do know that there is nothing in the sentiment of happy 
love, which I did not expcj'ience for that girl, in the course of the 
two years when I resided at Mrs. Love's. When I left there, we 
were firmly engaged to be married at the following Easter. I felt 
proud and happy, not in the least doubting the fulfilment of the 
engagement at the time appointed." * * * 

"As for school, Mr. Dent was a most excellent man, a sincere and 
pious Christian, and, I presume, a good teacher — for I was too young 
to judge, and, in fact, much too young for a Latin school. In the 
two years, Johnson Games and myself got as fiir advanced as Csesar's 
Commentaries- — though we could not have been well grounded, for 
when I changed to another school, I was put back to Cornelius 
Nepos. Mr. Dent was very good tempered. I do not remember to 
have received from him a harsh word or any kind of punishment but 
once. His school was crowded. I can recall none of the scholars 
who attained much, distinction, except one who was with us but a 
short time — Alexander Campbell, who afterwards became celebrated 
as an orator in Virginia, and still more painfully celebrated for his 



32 ALEXANDER CAMPBELL. [1772 1783. 

nielanclioly end. According to my recollection of liim, wlien be came 
to Mr. Dent's, lie was between eigbtcen and twenty years old. He 
bad just taken a prize for eloquence at tbe scbool in Georgetown. 
In deportment, be was manly and dignified; — ratber grave and 
tbougbtful, tbougb sometimes relaxing a little. I remember bis 
puzzling me witb forte dux fcl jlal in gulture. I recall, too, tbat 
perpetually tremulous and dancing eye-ball, by wbicb, in common 
witb otbers of bis family, be was so strikingly marked. 

"I never saw bim after be left Mr. Dent's; but be was still 
figuring at tbe bar after I grew up, and went to commence tbe prac- 
tice in tbe upper part of Virginia. I suppose be came to tbe bar 
several years after Cbief Justice IMarsball and Judge Wasbington, 
wbo must tbemselves bave begun to practise after tbe Eevolutionary 
war. Edmund Kandolpb qualified just before tbe Revolution, or, 
perbaps, at tbe point of its commencement; Patrick Henry about 
fifteen years earlier. Yet all tbese gentlemen were still at tbe bar 
T,'ben jMr. Campbell began bis career. He appeared witb tbem fre- 
quently in tbe same causes ; and it is bigb praise, but no less just 
tban bigb, to say, tbat even among tbem be was a distiuguisbed man. 
He stood confessedly in tbe first rank of genius. In logic, be did 
not wield tbe Herculean club of IMarsball ; nor did be, in rbetoric, 
exbibit tbe gotbic magnificence of Henry, — but bis quiver was filled 
witb polisbed arrows of tbe finest point, and were launcbed witb 
Apollonian skill and grace. Some of tbe most beautiful toucbes of 
eloquence I bave ever beard, were ecboes from Campbell wbicb 
reacbed us in tbe mountains. His arguments were mucb extolled 
for tbeir learning and strengtb, as well as beauty. I bave'beard it 
said tbat Mr. Pendleton, tbe President of tbe Court of Appeals, 
spoke of Campbell's argument in tbe case of Roy and Garnett, 
reported by Mr. Wasbington, as tbe most perfect model of forensic 
discussion be bad ever beard. — 

"Poor fellow! * * * * 

" He left a wbimsical will, wbicb I bave seen, and in wbicb was 
a request tbat no stone migbt be placed over bis grave, for tbe reason 
tbat if a stone were placed over every grave, tbere would be no eartb 
left for agriculture." 

Leaving tbis digression, we go back to Mrs. Love's. 



CiiAv. T.] RETURN OF PEACE. 33 

''I lived there, I think, until the year 1782, as perfectly happy as 
a child could be who was separated from his mother and the other 
natural objects of his aifections. From the time I rose until I weut 
to bed, the live-long day, it was all enjoyment, save only with two 
drawbacks — the going to school, and the getting tasks on holidays, — 
which last, by the by, is a practical cruelty that ought to be abolished. 
I never knew good to come of it, but much harm ; for it starts across 
the child's path, like a goblin, throughout the holidays. The task is 
deferred until the last moment, then, either slubbered over any how 
or omitted altogether, and a thousand falsehoods invented to evade or 
excuse it. But these holiday tasks were the order of the day in my 
youth, and haunted me until the holidays no longer deserved the 
name. With the exception of these same tasks and a slight repug- 
nance to daily school, Mrs. Love's was an elysium to me. It was a 
very quiet life, without the amusing incidents of Bladensburg and 
Georgetown. The only picturesque occurrence of which I have any 
recollection was the passage of a party of fox-hunters, with their 
dogs and horses, one day, by our dwelling-house. The public road 
to Allen's Fresh ran close by the gate, where I was standing alone, 
when this animated and noisy party dashed along. It was such an 
obstreperous invasion of the stillness of the country, and so entirely 
novel a spectacle to me, that I drew back from the gate and walked 
towards the house to get out of the way of the mischief of which they 
seemed full. One of the riders, observing my movement, put spurs 
to his horse and leaped the fence by the side of the gate, as if to 
frighten and pursue me ; but I was rather too proud to run, and he 
returned to his party the way he came." 

>;; ^; ;•; rji ^ ^ ^ 

" There was a barbacue at the Cool Springs, near Johnson Games' 
father's, to celebrate the return of peace. This was an idea, I well 
remember, which puzzled me exceedingly. Having known no other 
things but a state of war, I had no suspicion that there was any thing 
unnatural or uncommon in it. I must have heard continually of the 
battles that were fought, but I have not the slightest vestige on my 
memory of any such thing ; — which can only proceed from the cir- 
cumstance that battles, defeats and victories must have appeared to 
me as ordinary occurrences. I was exceedingly perplexed, therefore, 





34 DAY DREAMS. [1772—1783. 

to imdcrstaud the event which this barbacue celebrated. I had no 
distinct idea of the meaning of war and peace ; and, after the expla- 
nation that was given to me, had still but vague and confused impres- 
sions of the subject. I presume that the event in question was the 
signature of the preliminary articles in 1781, when I was only nine 
years old. If I had been at any time nearer to the immediate seat 
of the war, the terrors of those around me might have startled me 
into a clearer perception of its character, and have prepared me the 
better to understand and enjoy the return of peace. As it was, I had 
never heard of it but at a distance and with composure, and had seen 
nothing of war but its ' pride, pomp and circumstance,' to which a 
boy at my age had no objection." 

" I became sensible of the power of forming and pursuing at plea- 
sure, a day-dream from which I derived great enjoyment, and to which 
I found myself often recurring. There was nothing in the scenery 
around me to awaken such vagaries. It was tame, gentle and 
peaceful. The house stood on a flat about half a mile wide and one 
mile long. On the east, the view was shut in by a hill of moderate 
height, which stretched along the whole length of the plain — gently 
undulating, verdant and adorned with a growth of noble walnut trees 
which were scattered over its sides and summit. This hill was the 
only handsome object in view. On every other side the plain was 
locked in by swamps or woods ; so that there was neither incentive 
nor fuel for poetic dreams. JMine were the amusements of the dull 
morning walks from Mrs. Love's to the schoolhouse. It was a walk 
of about two miles, and my companion rather disposed to silence. I 
remember very distinctly the subject of one of these vagaries, from 
the circumstance of my having recalled, renewed and varied it again 
and again from the pleasure it afforded me. I imagined myself the 
owner of- a beautiful black horse, fleet as the winds. My pleasure 
consisted in imagining the admiration of the immense throngs on the 
race -field, brought there chiefly to witness the exploits of my prodigy 
of a horse. I could sec them following and admiring him as he 
walked along the course, and could hear their bursts of applause as 
he shot by, first one competitor, and then another, in the race. The 
vision was vivid as life, and I felt all the glow of triumph that a real 
victory could havo given." 



CuAP. I.] COLONEL LEE. 3 



n 



These imaginings were characteristic of the boy, and seem to have 
typified the peculiar nature of his aspirations in the more mature 
period of his manhood. 

Here is a remembrance of a notable personage of the Revo- 
lution. — 

" I must not forget a rencontre which I had with a very distin- 
guished man at this period. It had happened that, on some former 
occasion, I had attracted the attention of Col. Lee, of the Legion al- 
ready mentioned, as he passed through Bladensburg. A volume of 
Blackstone chanced to be lying on the table, near which he was sit- 
ting; and, showing me the title on the back of the volume, he asked 
me what I called it. I pronounced the word ' Commentaries' with 
the accent on the second syllable, and he corrected my cachilology, 
as Lord Duberly calls it. Upon the foiindation of this slight ac- 
quaintance, I was recognized by this gentleman at Mr. Rceder's, 
where I had gone on a visit with one of the Miss Loves, and whither 
Col. Lee had come to cross the ferry, with his fii'st wife, then, as I 
was told, newly married. He seemed quite pleased to meet me, took 
great notice of me, and, finally, insisted on my crossing the river with 
him to Hooe's, where he promised to give me some fine cherries. 
They who had care of me seemed to consider me and themselves much 
honoured by this notice of Col. Lee, and readily consented to his pro- 
posal. So, I was placed alongside of hira in the boat, while his 
young wife, for the gi'eater part, if not the whole of the passage, stood 
upon one of the benches, facing the breeze, which wantoned freely 
with her robes. She had a fine figure, and her attitude, as the boat 
rose and sank on the waves, was so strikingly picturesque as to remain 
strongly on my memory. The river is at this place four miles wide, 
and the beach and the opposite side is, at some states of the tide, so 
shallow that a boat cannot get quite to the shore, in which case pas- 
sengers have to be borne to dry land in the arms of the ferryman. 
This was the case on the present occasion. Col. Lee and his wife 
'were taken to the shore, where they, their servants, ferrymen and all 
moved off to the house at Hooe's, leaving me sitting alone in the boat 
to chew the cud of disappointment and neglect as well as I could. I 
was entirely forgotten : — but I did not forget this slight, in the reflec- 
tions which, even then and often afterwards, the incident provoked- 



36 MR. HUNT'S SCHOOL. [1772—1763 

After sitting alone in the boat for near an hour, unthought of by the 
person who had betrayed me into that situation, I was at last relieved 
by the ferrymen, who returning at their leisure, without either cher- 
ries or apology from Col. Lee, took me safe back to the more friendly 
bosoms I had left on the other shore." 

" In 1783, I was temoved from the grammar school of Mr. Dent 
in Charles county, to that of the Eev. James Hunt, the Presbyterian 
minister in Montgomery county, whom I have already mentioned. I 
was put to board with Major Samuel Wade Magruder, a substantial 
planter, who lived about two miles from Mr. Hunt's. The Magru- 
ders, at that time, formed a numerous fiimily in that county. . The 
original name, I have heard, was McGregor of Scotland, and the an- 
cestors ai"e said to have sought a refuge in this country, after tlie 
defeat at Culloden. The Major showed marks of Highland extrac- 
tion. He was lai-gc, robust and somewhat corpulent, with a round 
florid face, short, curling, sandy hair, and blue-gray eyes. He was 
strong of limb, fiery in temperament, hospitable, warm-hearted and 
rough. He was a magistrate and ex-ojjicio a conservator of the peace, 
which, however, he was as ready, on provocation, to break as to pre- 
serve. At times he was kind and playful with the boys ; but wo 
betide the unfortunate boy or man who became the object of his dis- 
pleasure ! 

" Mrs. Magruder was the sister of Col. Thomas Bcall of George- 
town, and daughter, as I have understood, of the gentleman after 
whom Georgetown took its name — George Beall of that place. She 
was a small, spare old lady who had been handsome. Her counte- 
nance was strongly expressive of her gentle disposition. The contrast 
with her husband was very striking. She was quiet and generally 
silent. I do not remember having heard her speak a dozen times iu 
the two years I lived in the family, and have forgotten the note of 
her voice. But the Major's I remember as the loud north wind that 
used to rock the house and sweep the snow-covered field. They had 
a large family — seven sons and four daughters. The grown sons 
were numerous and loud enough to keep the house alive, being some-- 
what of the Osbaldiston order, except that there was not a Rashleigh 
among them ; — nor was there a Di Vernon among the girls. 

"Besides the parents and children, there were divers incumbents 



Chap. I.] EARLY ACQUAINTANCES. 37 

wno drew their rations in the Major's house. There was, for a short 
time, a Col. Hamilton, who used to wear leather clothes, — coat and 
waistcoat included, — a thin, keen, active man, a little above middle 
age, who, I was told, had been a Regulator in North Carolina, — ■ 
though I was then ignorant what the word meant, — and that he was 
rather in concealment and under the Major's protection. 

" Then there was an interesting old gentleman, by name Thomas 
Flint, who had been an English schoolmaster, and had educated all 
the family except George and Patrick, who were destined for a classical 
education and a learned profession. Mr. Flint was upwards of fifty, 
"in fair round belly with good capon lined" — a good-looking man with 
a dark complexion, sharp, black eyes and shaggy brows. He had a 
son who was Major Magruder's overseer. 

" Besides these, there were two apprentices : — one of them, Zack, 
a wild, slovenly, blackguard boy, cut out by nature for a strolling 
player, having a strong inclination to repeat fragments of speeches 
and scraps of plays which he had learned from the boys of the school ; 
— the other was Harry, the son of the miller who was in the Major's 
employment, a modest, and interesting young man, who disappeared 
in a mysterious way, the particulars of which I have forgotten. 

" The mansion was a large two-storied brick house, built not long 
before I went there. In this his family proper lived. Within a few 
feet of it stood the old house, which had been the former residence 
of the family, but which was now occupied, at one end, by the over- 
seer, and in the residue of its chambers by the school-boys and the 
two apprentices. Here, at night, we got our lessons and more 
frequently played our pranks. 

"There were two boarders, besides myself: Walter Jones, son of 
Mr. Edward Jones, a rich planter of Frederick county, and Richard 
Harwood from Anne Arundel, — in after-times one of the Judges of 
a District in the State. For a short time the late Col. Thomas Davis 
of Montgomery, was one of our boarders and schoolfellows. — So that 
Major Magruder's household embraced not less than twenty white 
persons. To those there was a constant addition, by visiters to the 
young people of the family. It was, in fact, an active, bustling, 
merry, noisy family, always in motion, and often in commotion. To 
me it was painfully contrasted with the small, quiet, affectionate 

Vol. I. — 4 



38 EARLY ACQUAINTANCES. [1772—1783. 

establishment of Mrs. Love. There I had been the petted child and 
supreme object of attention. Here I was lost in the multitude, un- 
noticed, unthought of, and left to make my way and take care of 
myself as well as I could. My hair, which, under the discipline of 
Mrs. Love's daughters, was as clean and soft as silk, now lost its 
beauty. T had been spoiled by indulgence, and was really unfit to 
take care of myself. 1 did not know how to go about it. Yet there 
was no one to take care of me, or who showed any interest in me 
except Harry, the miller's son. Young as I was, I had reflection 
enough to compare the two scenes in which I had lived, to feel my 
present desolation, and to sigh over the past. The tune of Roslin 
Castle never recui-red to my memory without filling my eyes with 
tears. 

" There was another circumstance which embittered my residence 
at Mr. iMagruder's. One of my companions was ill-tempered, and I 
do not know by what antipathy, I became the peculiar object of his 
tyranny. There was that in my situation which would have disarmed 
a generous temper. I was a small, feebly-grown, delicate boy; an 
orphan, and a poor one too : but these circumstances seemed rather 
to invite than to allay the hostility of this fierce young man. During 
the two years that it was my misfortune to be a boarder in the house 
and his schoolfellow, I suffered a wanton barbarity that so degraded 
and cowed my spirit that I wonder I have ever recovered from it. 
In this large family he was, however, my only persecutor. The rest 
were content to let me alone, and I became, at length, well content 
to be so. I can recall here the first experience I had of the refuge 
and comfort of solitude. Often have I gone to bed long before I was 
sleepy, and long before any other member of the household, that I 
might enjoy in silence and to myself the hopes which my imagina- 
tion never failed to set before me. These imaginings rest on my 
memory with the distinctness of yesterday. I looked forward to the 
time when I should be a young man and should have Kiy own oflice 
of two rooms, my own servant and the means of I'cceiving and enter- 
taining my friends with elegant liberality, my horse and fine equip- 
ments, a rich wardrobe, and these all recommended by such manners 
and accomplishments as should again restore me to such favour and 
affectionate intercourse as I had known at Mrs. Trove's. I never 



Chap. I.] MUSIC. 39 

dreamt of any other revenge on my tormenting schoolfellow, than to 
eclipse him and reduce him to sue to me for friendship. Except 
these waking dreams which live so vividly in my remembrance, there 
are out few pleasant incidents to connect my recollections with those 
two years. Yet there are a few. One was the gratification I took in 
the visits of company to the house. Sometimes the young folks 
played cards, and I was not forbidden to sit in the room and see what 
was going on. One of these visiters is a gentleman, I believe, now 
living — Charles Jones. Although a very small boy, I recollect dis- 
tinctly the drollery for which he is, even yet, so much distinguished, 
and with which he used then to set the tables in a roar. Maxwell 
Armstrong, our Latin usher, — and the only popular usher I have 
ever known — was another of the visiters, and a great favourite 
with me. 

" There were two other visiters whom I saw only once each at the 
Major's, but whose visits led to one of my small accomplishments. 
Doctor Charles Beatty of Georgetown, brought up his flute and regaled 
the ladies one evening in the garden with his music. A Mr. Eckland, 
a Hessian or Prussian, a teacher of music in Georgetown, also came 
up on one occasion, when there was a great eflPort to get a musical 
instrument for him to play on. The house afforded nothing better 
than a wretched fiddle, — on which Major M. used to play, for his 
children, the only tune he knew, with these words — 

'Three or four sheepskins 

Wrong sides outwards ; 
Cut them down, cut them down, 

Cut them down and tan them.' 

'' There was, besides, a cracked flute, from which no one of the 
family had ever been able to draw a note. Mr. Eckland repudiated 
the fiddle, but, with the aid uf a little bees-wax to stop the crack, and 
a little water to wash and wet the bore, he made the flute discourse 
most eloquent music. — What a strange thing is memory ! I can see 
the man at this moment, and hear him strike up ' the White Cockade ' 
— for this was the first tune he played ; and he threw it ofi" with a 
spirit and animation of which Dr. Beatty had given me no idea. 
Thereafter, whenever the room was empty, I used to steal to the book- 
press in which that old flute was kept, and whispering in the aperture 



40 A FOX HUNT. [1772—1783. 

—for I could not blow, and dared not, if I could— try to finger such 
tunes as I knew. In this way I learned to play several tunes, of 
which Yankee Doodle was the chief, before I could fill the flute with 
a single note. v 

" On one occasion, Dr. Smith, of Georgetown — the father of the 
very respectable family of that name now at that place, came up to 
Major M's. with two or three other gentlemen, bringing with him a 
large pack of hounds, in preparation for a fos-chasc. This was a new 
incident to me, and full of the liveliest interest. On this occasion old 
Mr. Flint developed an accomplishment of which I had never sus- 
pected him. Having got pretty ' high up ' with drinking, he sang 
a hunting song, and one of the old songs of Robin Hood, of Avhich 
my children have often heard me sing several verses, caught from 
Mr. Flint's exhibition at this frolic. His picture is now before me — 
for he acted as well as sang, and repeated his verses as long as any 
one would listen. I slept but little the night before the hunt, and 
before day-break I was waked from my slumbers, by the turning of 
the hounds out of the cellar, and the uproar raised in the yard by 
them and the horns. I dressed myself quickly, and sighed, as the 
party moved off, because I could not follow them. On my way to 
school that morning, with what longing regret did I listen to the dis- 
tant notes of the hounds in full cry upon their track, until the last 
sound was lost behind the remote woodland ! To those who have not 
an ear for sounds, nor an eye for pictures, it would be incredible if I 
were to describe the cfiect which this scene had upon my imagination ; 
and to this day I know nothing, in the way of spectacle or music, to 
compare, for its power of excitement, with a well-equipped and gay 
party of hunters, following a pack of hounds in full cry." 

Here ends all that we are able to obtain from these simple and 
pleasant recollections. The writer broke them off abruptly at this 
early stage of his history, purposing to resume them when the graver 
duties of his high ofiice might allow him again the refreshment of 
these draughts of youthful memory. His busy professional life for- 
bade this indulgence, and has left us reason to regret that the same 
hand has not sketched his continued advance to manhood. 



CHAPTER II. 

1783 — 1787. 

IMAGINATIVE TEMPERAMENT. HIS STUDIES. AVIIOLESOME IN- 
FLUENCE OF MR. HUNT. HIS LIBRARY. SKETCHES BY CRUSE. 

VERSE-MAKING. FIRST LITERARY EFFORT, A PROSE SATIRE 

ON THE USHER. ITS CONSEQUENCES. A SCHOOL INCIDENT. 

A VICTORY. VISIT TO THE COURT-HOUSE OF MONTGOMERY. 

MR. DORSEY. — THE MOOT COURT. — ^ITS CONSTITUTION. SCHOOL 

EXERCISES. 

The memoir which we have just closed presents us nearly all that 
is known of William Wirt up to his eleventh year. It sufficiently 
indicates the temperament of the boy, and gives us no slight glimpses 
of the future aspirations of the man. The lively pictures which it 
presents of those scenes and persons which dwelt on his memory, 
show how keenly his youthful observation was impressed by the quaint 
and grotesque images which surrounded him. They show, too, with 
what a relish he noted the simple rural objects and employments that 
were familiar to his childhood, and how true an eye and how true a 
heart he had for the kindly things and influences that fell in the way 

j of his youthful experience. These qualities of mind and character 
continued to expand during his life, and were the constant source of 
that attraction which encircled him, to the last of his days, with troops 
of admiring friends. 

We shall have occasion to note, more than once in the course of 
these pages, the poetical complexion of Mr. Wii't's mind, the some- 
what prurient predominance of his imagination, and the alacrity with 
which he was ever ready to digress from the actual to the ideal of 
life. The almost inseparable quality of such a temperament is diffi- 

j dcnee, that shy reserve which is much mere frequently the result of 
pride and a high self-estimate than of humility. A sensibility to the 
criticism which our perception enables us to foresee and expect, from 
4* (41) 



42 HIS STUDIES. [1783— 17S7. 

those who are capable of a shrewd insight into our conduct, is most 
generally the soui-ce of that modesty which is observable in an inge- 
nuous and quick-sighted boy. Its usual accompaniment is an exterior 
of thoughtfulness and quiet observation in the presence of the world, 
united with a gay, light-hearted ease amongst those in whom house- 
hold association and familiar endearment have begotten that confidence 
which takes away the apprehension of censure. The observant eye 
of his aunt, with whom the orphan child had been domesticated in 
his tenderest age, detected this trait in his character, in the first years 
of their intercourse ; and, noticing these alternatives of a playful and 
thoughtful temper, she once remarked, when his uncle was debating 
with her the question of his education — " when I look at that dear 
child, he scarcely seems one of us, and I weep when I think of him." 
Such an expression would seem to indicate some early presage, afforded 
by the boy, of that superioi-ity M^hich his riper years developed. 

"Wirt remained at Mr. Hunt's school, in Montgomery county, until 
it was broken up in 1787. During the last two years of this period 
he was an inmate of Mr. Hunt's family. We shall often find, in the 
course of his correspondence, a pleasant remembrance of this family 
and its dwelling-place, which bore the classical name of the Tus- 
culum. 

Mr. Hunt seems to have exercised a happy influence over the cha^ 
ractcr of his pupil. He was a man of cultivated mind, liberal study 
and philosophic temper. He possessed, what in those days was no 
common advantage, a pretty good library. He had, besides, a pair 
of globes and some instruments of a philosophical apparatus. He 
was communicative, and quick to appreciate the tastes of his scholars, 
and, from all accounts, kindly and indulgent in his intercourse with 
tliem. 

Young Wirt found in this association much to advance him on his 
way. He acquired some little insight into astronomy, some taste for 
physics, some relish for classical study, but above all, some sharpness 
of fippetite for the amusements afforded by '^ the run of the library." 
He studied Josephus, Guy of Warwick and Peregrine Pickle, the old 
dramas, Pope, Addison and Home's Elements of Criticism, with equal 
avidity and with indiscriminate faith. The library cheated him out 
cC many a worse recreation, and whilst it captivated his boyish ima- 



Chap. II.l HIS STUDIES. 43 

gination with its world of treasures, it served also to implant iu his 
mind that love of various lore, which seeks its enjoyment among the 
flowers that enamel the broad fields of literature, rather than among 
the gems which lie in the depths only accessible to the miner. 

It is sometimes regarded as the misfortune of sprightly and appre- 
hensive genius, that it is apt to be lured from its graver and more 
profitable toil by the attractions of this vagrant course of reading. 
If this be true in any instance, it cannot be denied that many men, 
who have won distinction by their intellectual accomplishments, have 
been able to trace their first impulses towai'ds an honourable renown, 
to the opportunities afibrded by a miscellaneous library, and to the 
tastes which it has enabled them to improve. Mr. Wirt, in after life, 
was accustomed to speak in terms of regret of the habit of immetho- 
dical reading which, acquired in early youth, had, as he supposed, 
somewhat injuriously diverted his time from systematic study. He 
was, we are inclined to believe, mistaken in his estimate of this dis- 
advantage. There seems to have been, in his case, quite a sufficient 
concentration of methodised study, in the pursuit of his own laborious 
profession, to justify and commend the habit of light and excursive 
reading in all other departments of science or literature. He has also 
afforded many agreeable manifestations, that the zealous and persever- 
ing lawyer had cultivated, with no small success, that general scholar- 
ship which is so seldom combined with professional excellence, and 
which constitutes, wherever it exists, the most graceful and attractive 
of its adjuncts. Genius generally finds its own path. Its first instinct 
is to wander over the surface of its own world, until it may light upon 
that which shall gratify its proper appetite. Its affinities prompt it 
to ramble in search of the congenial things nature has provided for 
it ; and it seldom falls out that the errant spirit does not, in due time, 
come to its appointed destination. It may be said to have been Mr. 
Wirt's characteristic quality of mind, to perceive and keenly to relish 
the riches of that upper world of thought, which is pictured to us 
under the felicitous designation of humane letters. These, compre- 
hending in their scope nearly everything that is graceful in a3sthetics, 
everything that is beautiful in art, glowing in poetry, and eloquent ill 
thought, present to the student a field of various observation, which 
can only be cultivated and enjoyed by the most apparently desultory 



44 HIS STUDIES. [1783—1787. 

study. He, therefore, who has a true perception of the delights of 
such study, may scarcely Ml to be accounted a capricious and ram- 
bling reader, whenever his pursuit shall come to be measured by the 
severer rules which the student of one science finds it necessai-y to 
observe in his own labour. 

For many particulars relating to the earlier portion of Mr. Wirt's 
life, I am happy to express my obligations to a rapid but careful bio- 
graphical sketch, which was written by Peter Hoffman Cruse of Bal- 
timore, in 1832, under circumstances which give it great value as an 
authentic narrative, and which is not less worthy of commendation 
for its graceful and scholarlike style of composition. I should scarcely 
do justice to my subject, if I forbore to avail myself of the material 
presented to me from a source so friendly and, at the same time, S" 
accurate. I shall not scruple to use it as often as I may find occa- 
sion.* 



* The sketch referred to in the text was written by Mr. Cruse upon an 
engagement with the Messrs. Harpers of New York in 1832, just after Mr. 
Wirt's nomination as a candidate for the Presidency, and was designed to 
nccompany a republication of Mr. Wirt's literary productions. This repub- 
lication, — for reasons with which I am not acquainted — did not proceed 
beyond the reprint of the British Spy, to which the biographical sketch I 
have alluded to was prefixed. At the time of the nomination of Mr. Wirt 
for the Presidency, by a singular coincidence of circumstances a narrative 
of his life was in contemplation from one or two quarters totally discon- 
nected from the political object which may be supposed to have made it 
then a matter of interest to the public. Mr. Longacre was engaged in his 
Work of National Portraits, and had applied to Mr. Wirt for some materials 
for a sketch of his history to accompany an engraved likeness for this work. 
The task of furnishing these had been committed to Judge Carr of the Court 
of Appeals of Virginia. Mr. Sahiion P. Chase, a friend of Mr. Wirt's nomi- 
nation, and, still more intimately, his personal friend, a gentleman accom- 
plished in elegant letters, — recently brought more conspicuously to tlie view 
of the country as a Senator of the United States from Ohio — had also taken 
the matter of a biography into his hands. But the enterprise of the Messrs. 
Harpers being stimulated by a more direct reference to the nomination, took 
the place of all other biographical projects, and consigned the task to the 
very competent handi of Mr. Cruse. 

Cruse waa a finished scholar, of exquisite taste, and gifted with talents 
which would have secured him an enviable eminence in the literature of 
this country. He fell a victim to the cholera, in Baltiipore, on the 6di of 
September, 1832, not long after the completion of the biography above 
mentioned. The country thus lost one whose accomplishment in letters 
was just beginning to bring him reputation, and whose career, if he had 
lived, would have been distinguished by the finest exhibitions of intellectual 
'■.xcellence. The materials for his sketch were derived from an intimate 



Chap. II.] SKETCHES BY CRUSE. 45 

JMr. Hunt's library suggested to our pupil some effort of rivalry 
with one of its heroes, in the dainty occupation of verse-making. He 
read how Pope had first tempted his muse at twelve years of age. 
He himself was now thirteen : — why shouldn't he versify as well ? 
He tried his hand at it, and, very naturally, failed. He accordingly 
resolved that Nature had not made him a versifier. There was, how- 
ever, the world of prose open to him, and forthwith he set out upon 
that quest. Amongst several essays, in this sort, one fell into Mr. 
Hunt's hands, and was most agreeably received, with abundance of 
praise. I must give the history of it as it comes from the friendly 
biographer.* 

" It was engendered by a school incident, and was a piece of 
revenge more legitimate than schoolboy invention is apt to inflict 
when sharpened by wrongs, real or imaginary. There was an usher 
at the school ; and this usher, who was more learned and methodical 
than even-tempered, was one morning delayed in the customary 
routine by the absence of his principal scholar, who was young Wirt 
himself. In his impatience he went often to the door, and espying 
some boys clinging, like a knot of bees, to a cherry-tree not far off, 
he concluded that the expected absentee was of the number, and 
nursed his wrath accordingly. The truth was that the servant of a 
neighbour, with whom Wirt was boarding at the time, had gone that 
morning to mill, and the indispensable breakfast had been delpoyed by 
his late retm-n. This apology, however, was urged in vain on the 
usher, who charged, in. corroboration, the plunder of the cherry-tree : 

personal acquaintance with Mr. Wirt, whose just appreciation of him was 
shown in the most cordial and confidential social communion. The inci- 
dents of this biographical sketch were supplied by the friends of Mr. Wirt, 
by his family, and by the biographer's own personal knowletlge of his 
subject. The sketch itself was submitted to Mr. Wirt, and so far corrected 
by him as to secure it against any inaccuracy of statement of fact. I may 
add, that my own constant intercourse with Mr. Cruse, during the propara 
tion of that sketch, and a familiar acquaintance with the individual to 
whom it refers, enable me to give an additional assurance of its authenticity. 
I can only indulge, now, the unavailing regret that its author, so rich as he 
was in tlie arts of " wit, eloquence, and poesy,"' had not survived to unite 
with me in the grateful labour of this task, to render a joint tribute of our 
homage to the distinguished subject of our memoirs — partaking, as we both 
did, in equal degree, of the pleasure of his society and the kindness of his 
regard. 

* Cruse's Sketch. 



46 ENCOUNTER WITH AN USHER. [1783— 17S7. 

and thongli this was as stoutly as truly rejoined to be tte act of an 
English school, hard by, the recitation of Master Wirt proceeded 
under very threatening prognostics of storm. The lesson was in 
Cicero, and at every hesitation of the reciter, the eloquent volume, 
brandished by the yet chafing tutor, descended within an inch of his 
head, — without quailing his facetiousness however, — for he said, 
archly, ' Take care, or you '11 kill me.' We have heard better-timed 
jests since, from the dexterous orator, for the next slip brought a 
blow in good earnest, which, being as forcible as if logic herself, with 
her 'closed fist,' had dealt it, felled our hero to the ground. 'I'll 
pay you for this, if I live,' said the fallen champion, as he rose from 
the field. 

" ' Pay me,' will you ?' said the usher, quite furious ; ' you will 
never live to do that.' 

" ' Yes I will,' said the boy. 

" Our youth was an author, be it remembered, and that is not a 
race to take an injury, much less an affront, calmly. The quill, too, 
was a fair weapon against an usher ; and, by way of vent to his indig- 
nation at this and other continued outrages, bnt with no view to what 
so seriously fell out from it, in furtherance of his revenge, he indited, 
some time afterward, an ethical essay on Anger. In this, after due 
exhibition of its unhappy effects, which, it may be, would have 
enlightened Seneca, though he has himself professed to treat the 
same subject, he reviewed those relations and functions of life most 
exposed to the assaults of this fury. A parent with an undutiful 
son, said our moralist, must often be very angry, a master with his 
servant, an innkeeper with his guests ; — but it is an usher that must 
the oftenest be vexed by this bad passion, and, right or wrong, find 
himself in a terrible rage. And so he went on in a manner very edi- 
fj'ing and very descriptive of the case, character and manner of the 
expounder of Cicero. 

" Well pleased with his work, our author found a most admiring 
reader in an elder boy, who, charmed with the mischief as much as 
the wit of the occasion, pronounced it a most excellent performance, 
and very fit for a Saturday morning's declamation. In vain did our 
wit object strenuously the dangers of this mode of publication. The 
esssay was got by heart, and declaimed in the presence of the school 



Chap. II.] A VICTORY. " 47 

and of the usher himself, who, enraged at the satire, demanded the 
writer, otherwise threatening the declaimer with the rod. Ilis mag- 
nanimity was not proof against this, and he betrayed the incognito of 
our author, who happened the same evening to be in his garret, when 
master usher, the obnoxious satire in hand, came into the apartment 
below to lay his complaint before his principal. Mr. Hunt's house 
was one of those one-story rustic mansions, yet to be seen in Mary- 
land, where the floor of the attic, without the intervention of ceiling, 
forms the roof of the apartment below; so that the culprit could 
easily be the hearer, and even the partial spectator, of the inquisition 
held on his case. ' Let us see this offensive libel,' said the preceptor; 
and awful were the fii'st silent moments of its perusal, which were 
broken, first, by a suppressed titter, and, finally, to the mighty relief 

of the listener, by a loud burst of laughter. ' Pooh ! pooh ! Mr. • 

this is but the sally of a lively boy, and best say no more about it : 
besides that, inforo conscientice, we can hardly find him guilty of the 
publication !' 

" This was a victory ; and when Mr. Hunt left the room, the con- 
queror, tempted to sing his ' lo Trlumphe' in some song allusive to 
the country of the discomfited party, who was a foreigner, was put to 
flight by the latter's rushing furiously into the attic, and snatching 
from under his pillow some hickories, the fasces of his office, and 
inflicting some smart strokes on the flying satirist, who did not stay, 
like Voltaire, to write a receipt for them. The usher left the school in 
dudgeon not long afterward, like the worthy in the doggrel rhymes — 

' The hero who did 'sist upon 't, 
He wouldn't be deputy to Mr. Hunt.' 

"■ Many years after, the usher and his scholar met again. Age and 
poverty had overtaken the poor man, and his former pupil had the 
opportunity of showing him some kindnesses which were probably not 
lessened by the recollection of this unpremeditated revenge." 

This was quite a prosperous entrance into the world of letters. 

The pleasant remembrance of this early triumph is one, amongst many 

I evidences which I may have occasion to notice hereafter, of the earnest 

appreciation with which the distinguished lawyer was wont to regard 

the pursuit of literary fame, which, as it seemed, an adverse destiny 



48 THE MOOT COURT. [1783-1787 

had constantly placed beyond his enjoyment, though never, as the 
rcadex- of these ]pagcs will find, beyond his hopes. 

Mr. Hunt's discipline contributed to awaken the ambition of his 
pupil to another renown, not less conspicuous in his career. Letters 
were always the passion of William Wirt, — a passion foredoomed 
against enjoyment, the Tantalus cup of his life. The law was, in 
equal degree, his chosen field of eminence, pursued at all times with, 
the eager love of a votary, and, more propitious to him than its rival, 
the bountiful source of fame and wealth. His first introduction to 
its temple was at this era of his boyhood. Mr. Hunt was in the habit 
of taking his pupils to the Montgomery County Court, in term time, 
to give them some insight into those mysteries which may be said to 
be, in this country, the ladder to all preferment, and which certainly 
at the date of this adventure, much more than at present, was the 
chief aid by which men climbed to eminence. The court-house was 
some four miles from the school. The whole troop, headed by the 
Domine, went on foot, and with due solemnity entered the rustic hall 
of justice, and took their scats in the unoccupied jury-box. Amongst 
the pleaders one of the youngest was William H. Dorsey, well known 
to the school and neighbourhood. He was clever, quick, and coura- 
geous in his encounters with the older brethren ; so, he naturally 
became the fiivourite of the schoolhouse auditory, and grew to be a 
hero in their eyes. Boys have a great instinct for hero worship ; — 
and worship with them is imitation. Dorsey was not much older than 
the oldest of those who sat to hear and applaud him. " Why should 
not we have a court of our own ? " " Agreed." — So, forthwith we 
have a little temple of Themis in Mr. Hunt's school-room. Wirt was 
appointed to draw up the constitution. He was, manifestly, the 
Dorsey of the new forum. The constitution was prepared with all 
the necessary complications to meet the contingencies of its broad and 
delicate jurisdiction, and was reported, with a modest letter of apology 
for its imperfections, by the author. 

This was his first forensic essay. There were occasional speech- 
makings in public at the school, and the practice also of " capping 
verses" — one of those ingenious devices by which off-hand orators 
are supplied with a motley of shreds and patches cut frona classical 
cloths, and preserved as the staple for that impromptu wit and learn- 



CnAP. III.] FRIENDS. 49 

ing which, in the last age, was regarded as one of the chief ornaments 
of scholarship, — now, fortunately, somewhat jostled aside for whole- 
some Anglo-Saxon. In all these exercitations Wirt was a common 
A-iftor, and cai'ried off whatsoever prize he had a mind to win. 



^W^^k'^^^^^^^^W^^ 



CHAPTER III. 

1787 — 1792. 

FRIENDS. — PETER A. CARNES. BENJAMIN EDWARDS. — NIMIAN 

EDWARDS. — BECOMES A TUTOR IN MR. EDWARDs' FAMILY. — 

USEFUL EMPLOYMENT OF HIS TIME. STUDIES. JOURNEY TO 

GEORGIA. — RETURNS TO MONTGOMERY AND STUDIES LAW WITH 
W. P. HUNT. — REMOVES TO VIRGINIA. — STUDIES WITH MR. 
SWANN. — IS ADMITTED TO PRACTISE BY THE CULPEPER COURT. 

Mr. Hunt's school was discontinued in the year 1787. Wirt 
was now in his fifteenth year. But little remained of his small pa- 
ti'imony, and he was brought to the necessity of seeking the means to 
support himself. He was not without friends. His happy and con- 
fiding temper attracted the good-will of his schoolfellows. His talents 
won the esteem of his teachers. The sympathy excited by his 
orphanage and the humility of his deportment brought him more 
than one protector. 

Mr. Peter A. Carnes was an early patron and most useful friend 
to our pupil. This gentleman belonged to the bar of Maryland. He 
was the owner of a considerable landed estate in Charles count}'', and, 
being a cultivator of tobacco, his occasions, both as a planter and as a 
professional man, often brought him to Bladensburg. Plere he was 
accustomed to take his lodgings in the public house which was kept 
by Jacob Wirt. He thus became intimate with the family, and had 

I the best opportunities to observe the character of the young and 
sprightly boy whose qualities were so well adapted to captivate his 
regard. This actiuaintance ripened into a strong and lasting attach ■ 
Vol. I.— 5 d 



60 PETER A. CARNES. [1787—1792. 

ment, wliicli was subsequently maulfested in the most substantial 
proofs of friendship to the family. 

When Jacob Wirt died, Jlr. Carnes charged himself, to some ex- 
tent, with the control and guidance of the children of the family, of 
whom the eldest was Elizabeth, the senior of William by some ten 
years. There is reason to believe that Mr. Carnes assumed the di- 
rection of the education of William, and perhaps of Elizabeth, and 
defrayed the expenses of this charge chiefly out of his own pocket. 
William was consigned by him to the care of Mr. Dent, in Charles 
county ; and Mr. Carnes himself, — according to some memorials of 
his famil}'^, which I have seen, — provided for him that comfortable 
homestead, where he was sheltered and made happy by " good ]Mrs. 
Love" and her family, in the memory of which the grateful pupil 
found so much pleasure. 

Some years after this Mr. Carnes removed to Greorgia and settled 
himself in the neighbourhood of Augusta, where he obtained eminence 
as a lawyer. Elizabeth Wirt was, at this time, grown to womanhood ; 
her mother was dead, and she and her brother, we may suppose, were 
left in a condition to attract the sympathy and consideration of their 
good friend. Mr. Carnes sent for them both to come and live with 
him. William's destiny directed him to another quarter; but his 
sister obeyed the summons of her kind protector, who, soon after her 
arrival in Georgia, fortified his title to that relation by making her 
his wife. 

In the few letters and other papers I have been able to collect, 
referring to this portion of Mr. Wirt's life, there is abundant evidence 
of the concern /of Mr. Carnes in the fortunes of his young friend, and 
of the valuable service rendered by him to his protege, at that age 
when friendly counsel is most needed. 

licsides Mr. Carnes, there was another who now took an interest 
in the success of the youthful scholar, and whose connection with 
him had the most happy influence in shaping his career to that emi- 
nence which he afterwards achieved. This friend was Benjamin 
lulwards, at that date a resident of Sloutgomery county. His son, 
IMiniau Edwards, — who, in after years, successively held the post of 
first Territorial Governor of Illinois, then Senator from that State, 
au<l afterwards the Governor of it — was the comrade and classmate 



Chap. III.] BENJAMIN EDWARDS. 51 

of Wirt in Mr. Hunt's scliool. When this school was broken np and 
our disbanded student had returned to Bladensburg, as to a point 
from which to make a new start in life, young Edwards happened to 
take with him to his father's house the constitution of the moot court 
to which I have referred in a former chapter, and, along with it, the 
report or prefatory letter. This was probably exhibited in the family 
as one of those achievements which, in the world of school-boys, are 
magnified for purposes of renown, with a more affectionate exaggera- 
tion than we are apt to hear of it in the larger world. This. triumph 
of the academy thus came to the eye of Mr. Edwards, the father, and 
doubtless with no modicum of praise of the cleverness of the author. 
The result was, in brief space, a letter from the f;xther to young Wirt, 
inviting him to a station in the family, as a private tutor to his son 
Niuian and two nephews, who were all contemplating a transfer to 
college, and who stood in need of some preparatory study, which, it 
was thought, Wirt was qualified to direct. 

This invitation, in any aspect a most agreeable one, was rendered 
still more acceptable by the assurance which accompanied it, that Mr. 
Edwards' library should be at the service of the new teacher, for the 
prosecution of his own reading. A summons so opportune to this 
new field of duty, was, of course, quickly and gratefully accepted, 
and the pupil, now converted into a teacher, was most comfortably 
established at IMount Pleasant — as this seat was appropriately called 
— in the bosom of a hospitable, cultivated, and estimable family. 

Mr. Edwards had been a member of the Legislature of Maryland ; 
• — had acquired reputation in that body as a skilful and accomplished 
debater. In this relation he had attracted the commendation and 
friendship of the great leader, in that day, of the politics of the State 
— Samuel Chase. He was, besides, well versed in general literature ; 
his mind was strong, direct, and trained to reflection ; his demeanour 
challenged respect and esteem by its dignity ; his character, public 
and private, was distinguished for lofty patriotism and inflexible virtue. 
His manners were afiiible, and particularly agreeable to the young, 
iwith whom he was fond of associating, — charming them by instructive 
conversation, with the benevolence of his disposition, and his ready 
sympathy with the tastes and interests of his youthful auditory, ren- 
dered manifold in its useful impressions upon them. 



52 BENJAMIN EDWARDS. [17S7-1792. 

This is the outline of the character Mr. Wirt was wont to give of 
his early friend. How fortunate may we regard him in being brought 
within the sphere of such a man's influence ! It is one of the most 
pleasant traits in the history of the subject of this biography, that to 
the last day of his life he could not speak of Benjamin Edwards, but 
with the strong emotions of a grateful affection, which seemed to be 
even more than filial. We shall see many evidences of this generous 
recognition in the letters which may be introduced into the futui'e 
pages of this narrative. 

" You have taught me," he says, in one of these letters, written to 
his old friend at a date when he had conquered the obstacles^of 
poverty, and had hewn his way to a profitable, as well as a brilliant 
reputation — " to love you like a parent Well, indeed, may I do so, 
since to you, to the influence of your conversation, your precepts, and 
your example in the most critical and decisive period of my life, I 
owe whatever of useful or good there may be in the bias of my mind 
and character. Continue then, I implore you, to think of me as a 
son, and teach your children to regard me as a brother : they shall 
find me one, indeed, if the wonder-working dispensations of Provi- 
dence should ever place them in want of a brother's arm, or mind, 
or bosom." 

The young tutor's final destination was the bar. With much to 
justify an augury of success in this profession, he had also some draw- 
backs. He was shy and timid in any public exhibition of himself. 
His enunciation was thick and indistinct, marked by a nervous rapid- 
ity of utterance. Both of these may be regarded as great embar- 
rassments in the way of a profession which requires the utmost intre- 
pidity of self-protrusion, and whose outward and visible manifestation 
exists more in round, clear, and dauntless speech, than in any other 
attribute by which it can be made known. 

Mr. Edwards soon observed these defects in his young friend, and, 
with a persuasive and gentle skill, set himself about removing them. 
He narrated to him, by way of encouragement, some incidents in his 
own experience, — particularly those which belonged to his dclut in 
the Legislature, in which he gave a strong picture of his emban-ass- 
ment, his confusion and fear of breaking down, and his surprise at 
his safe deliverance, and the compliment paid him by Mr. Chase, 



CiiAP. III.] USEFUL EMPLOYMENT. 53 

when he had supposed his faikire complete. He sometimes took 
occasion also to rally his listener upon his diffidence ; and to give him 
some adequate conception of the little room he had to fear the com- 
petition of what was understood to be the most formidable class of 
antagonists he might be compelled to encounter in life. He fortified 
this lesson, by assuring him, that there were not many of those who 
had arisen to distinction, who had not to contend with obstacles as 
great as his own. Dorsey and Pinkney, both young men at that 
period, and both beginning to attract the observation of the commu- 
nity, were held up by Mr. Edwards to his comment. '^ Dorsey,' ' 
said he, " whom you so much admii'c, and Pinkney, whom you will 
admire still more when you shall have seen him, are making their 
own way to distinction under as great disadvantages as any you have 
to encounter."* 

With whatever distrust, the shy student at that time received these 
friendly persuasives, and however incredulous he might be of the 
hopes his friend was endeavouring to implant in his mind, it was not 
many years before he had- realized more than had been promised him. 
A letter from Mr. Edwards reached him at Williamsburg in the palmy 
day of his career, fondly recalling to him the predictions of this early 
time in Montgomery, and exulting, with the pride which a father only 
might be supposed to feel in the advancement of a son, at the fulfil- 
ment of the prophecy. 

Twenty happy and useful months were spent under the roof of IMr. 
Edwards. In the successive occupations of classical study, of instruc- 
tive conversation, and preparations for that profession to which he 
was hereafter to devote his life, Wirt found, at this epoch, the most 
solid benefits. In the contemplation of that robust and manly cha- 
racter which was daily presented to his notice in his patron and friend; 
in the dignity of deportment, lofty vu'tue and massive good sense of 
this worthy gentleman ; in the unostentatious simplicity of the family, 
their genuine kindness and indulgent consideration of himself, he 
found daily a stimulus to the cultivation of the virtues both of his 
I heart and head, and the strongest incentives towards the fulfilment 
of those aspirations for renown which, in after life, he so successfully 
accomplished. 

* Cruse. 



54 JOURNEY TO GEORGIA. [1787—1793. 

At tlie expiration of this period. Lis liealth became somewhat im- 
paired. By the advice of friends, he determined to make a journey 
on horseback to Grcorgia, and spend the winter with his friend and 
brother-in-law, Mr. Carncs, and his sister, whom he had not seen 
since her marriage. 

"VVe have no narrative or remembrances of this journey to refer to. 
It was undertaken towards the end of the year 1789; The traveller 
set out alone. He was in his seventeenth year. The way was long, 
and a great deal of it lay through a dreary wilderness of pine-forest 
and sand. It was no light enterprise in that day ; — but we may well 
imagine that to the cheerful boy, so full of pleasant fancies and rosy 
hopes, the wayside brought no weariness. In the first outlook of a 
youth of seventeen upon the world, mounted upon his steed ; with a 
purse sufficiently stored to bring him to his journey's end ; with all 
his worldly goods packed on a pad behind his saddle ; with a gay 
heart in his bosom, and a sunshiny face beneath his beaver, — what is 
there on the globe to make him sad ? No shadow upon his j)ath ever 
takes a gloomy hue, no lonesome by-way finds him unaccompanied 
with pleasant thoughts, no fatigue overmasters or subdues the buoy- 
ancy of his mind; the rain and the wind bring no melancholy when 
they drive against his breast. The swollen river which, in some 
mountain gorge, compels him to a halt, is but a picturesque hindi-ance 
which he has the boldness to tempt, or the patience to wait for. 
Nightfall but heightens the romance of his dreams, as he holds his 
way, guided by some distant taper, to the rude shelter of a woodman's 
hut. The hearth to which he has found this doubtful path, gleams 
with a light more cheerful than the illuminations of a palace, Avhen 
its rays are thrown upon the homely group of the woodman's family 
from the blazing faggots, kindled to prepare for him a supper with 
which no banquet in his elder day is to be compared. 

If our young adventurer had kept a journal of this expedition, we 
should, doubtless, have had abundant material from which to illustrate 
the content and joy with which such experiences would be recorded. 

The Southern winter seems to have told well upon his constitution. 
He had been threatened with a pulmonary complaint which had 
excited some alarm in his friends, and it was supposed he might find 



Chap. III.] REMOVAL TO VIRGINIA. 55 

it to the advantage of his health, as well as to the professional career 
to which he directed his views, to make a permanent settlement in 
Georgia. The journey on horseback, however, and the genial winter 
of that region, wrought a rapid change in his condition, and enabled 
him to pursvie his aims in a quarter more attractive to his regards, 
and, as we must believe from the result, more favourable to the ob- 
jects of his ambition. His vigour was restored, and he returned to 
Maryland in the spring. 

He now took up his abode at Tilontgomery Court House, and en- 
tered upon the study of the law with William P. Hunt, the son of 
his former preceptor. In this position he remained about a year, and 
then, for the first time, went to reside in Virginia. 

I find a reference to this removal, and the causes which led to it, 
in one of the few early letters which have fallen under my notice. 
It is addressed to M-r. Games, in Georgia, in November, 1792. 

'^ While with Mr. Hunt," he writes, ^' a friend informed me of a 
very advantageous station for a lawyer in the state of Virginia. Every 
body urged me to seize it. The law of Virginia required of me twelve 
months' residence in the state, and a previous examination by three 
of the Judges of the General Court. I removed mv residence imme- 
diately to Virginia, and after residing about five months under a !Mr. 
Swann* — an acquaintance and school-mate of Tom Carnes, and a 
young fellow of distinguished legal abilities, — I applied to the judges 
for a license; by a manoeuvre, removed the objection of non-residence, 
and, after a minute scrutiny into my information, obtained the signa- 
ture of three of their Honom-s to my license. I have disposed of my 



* My readers will recognize in this reference, Mr. Thomas Swann, a dis- 
tinguished member of the bar of Washington, and for several years District 
Attorney of the United States in that city. The acquaintance between liim 
and Mr. W^irt, which commenced at this early period, ripened into a cordial 
friendship, which was maintained throughout life unbroken, and was mani- 
fested in the constant habitual exchange of kindness which the proximity 
of residence enabled them to practise to the latest day of Mr. Wirt"s life. 
Some few letters, the fragments only of a frequent correi^pondence between 
them, remain. I have particularly to regret iny failure to procure that por 
tion of it which belonged to the earlier period of Mr. Wirt's career, in wliich 
I had hoped to find some instructive details of his life. This may possibly 
yet be recovered. 



56 ADMITTED TO THE BAR. [1787—1792. 

property, and am now over (this letter is written from Prince George's 
county, Maryland,) for the purpose of receiving the money. Imme- 
diately upon the reception of this, I commence the practice of the 
law." 

This is the introduction of William Wirt to Yirginia, a state with 
whose fame he grew to be almost inseparably identified, and towards 
which he never ceased to look with the affection of a child for a 
parent. 

What was the nature of the "manoeuvre" by which he cu'cum vented 
their " Honours," and thus got himself prematurely ensconced in the 
bosom of that bountiful mother, we are not informed. But we may, 
with some reason, account that to be a pious fraud which so success- 
fully gave this dutiful and reverential son to a family which has never 
ceased, from that moment, to regard him as one of its most cherished 
favourites. In a more worldly sense, too, it may be reckoned as a 
token of the future prosperity of the young lawyer, whose first case 
was won by so commendable a piece of sharp-sightedness. Let us, 
on our part, look to this incident both as a pledge of attachment and 
fealty to the new sovereign from its new subject,, and a proof of his 
adaptation to that profession which owes so much of its thrift, if not 
its glory, to the dexterity which is occasionally called to display itself 
in finding out an unguarded point in the outworks of the law. 

The Court in which he was admitted to practise, was that of Cul- 
pcper county, and his residence was accordingly taken in the court 
house village. 



CHAPTER IV. 

1792—1794. 

HIS LIBRARY. FIRST CASE. — DIFFICULTIES ATTENDING IT. — IS 

ASSISTED BY A FRIEND. A TRIUMPH. HIS COMPANIONABLE 

■ QUALITIES. HABITS OF DESULTORY STUDY. PRACTISES IN 

ALBEMARLE. 

We have the young practitioner now faii'ly embarked upon the sea- 
of his profession. 

There is good authority for saying that his library and professional 
equipment were not of the most various or effective description. He 
has told the story himself, that his whole magazine of intellectual 
artillery, at this period, comprised no other munitions than a copy of 
Blackstone, two volumes of Don Quixote, and a volume of Tristram 
Shandy. Behind these, there was, probably, a twelve-month's study, 
partly, no doubt, travelled along the flinty highway of Coke and Lit- 
tleton, but, we may be pretty confident in the conjecture, not less 
diligently conversant with the secret and pleasant byways of Tom 
Jones, Roderick Random, and their kindred adventurers. 
. He was now upon a theatre to which he had anxiously aspired, 
and one which would surely try his metal. He came to this proba- 
tion under some fearful disadvantages ; — that is to say, with no great 
store of legal provision, and with his constitutional timidity still 
uaconquered. 

Only those who have gone through the ordeal of public contest, 
with this weight upon their shoulders, can estimate the oppression — 
the horror, I might say— of such a drawback. The ordinaiy pursuits 
of business-life give one no insight into the sufferings of the public 
speaker who is compelled to struggle against the reluctance of a diffi- 
dent natm-e. The young hero of the buskin, when fh-st brought to 
the footlights to confront that combined Hydra and Briareus, an 
assembled audience, can tell a piteous tale of terror, if asked to 
describe his emotions. The novitiate of a legislative hall may give 

(57) 



58 FIRST CASE. [1792—1791. 

an interesting experience to the same point. Bat, more severe tlian 
either, is the experiment of the disconsolate barrister when he rises, 
for the first time, to discourse the most difficult and perplexing of all 
human lore, in the presence of the frowning and solemn majesty of 
the bench; or when he faces that personal embodiment of popnlai 
justice, the twelve " probos et legales homines," which the traversei 
who " puts himself upon his country" is taught to believe, by a vio- 
lent fiction, to be the country itself, but in which the maiden oratoi 
se^s only a most formidable fragment of it. The young votary who, 
for the first time, stands in this presence, surrounded by its usual and 
characteristic auditory, drawn thither by that insatiable love of the 
scenery and incident of the judicial drama, which is pi'cscriptively the 
passion of the multitude ; when he sees the compact pavement of 
heads' extending into every nook within the horizon of his vision, 
with their multitudinous eyes concentred upon one focus, and that 
focus himself; all eager to hear every word, the general curiosity 
overcoming all uneasiness of attitude, all discomfort of the heated 
atmosphere, all hunger and thirst — what is there in Fuseli's imagi- 
nation of nightmare to give a more frightful picture of the oppressed 
brain and bewildered sight than this spectacle, presented to a shy and 
unpractised youth, ineffectually labouring, in advance, to repress the 
throes of a constitutional diffidence !* 

Such are the trials familiar to those whose professions corripel them 
to encounter this discipline. 

Wirt's enunciation was still defective : it was confused and hurried. 
His voice, when undisturbed by that timidity which deprived him of 
his command over it, was rich and melodious. His person was at 
this time quite as prepossessing as it was remarked to be in his later 
manhood. His manners were well adapted to make friends. 

* One such scene I liave witnessed, and I remember the agony with 
which the confused novitiate arose a second time, having been but a moment 
before compelled to take his seat, in the hope to collect his routed thoughts. 
His second essay was not more fortunate than the first. . He stood silent for 
a brief spat;e, and at the end was able to say — "Gentlemen, I declare to 
Heaven, that if I had an enemy ujjon whose head I would invoke the most 
cruel torture, I could wish liim no other fate than to stand where I stand 
now.'" Curiously enough, the sympathy \\ hirh this appeal brouglit him, 
seemed almost instantly to give him strength. A short pause was Ibllowed. 
by another cflbrt, which was completely and even triumphantly successful. 



Chap. IV.] FIRST'CASE. 59 

His first appearance at the bar is described by liis biographer pretty 
much from his own account of the incident. It was well remembered 
amongst JMr. Wirt's early friends. Luckily for him, this fii-st accost 
was attended by some excitements which overmastered his shyness 
and reserve, and saved him many pains. The occasion and its events 
are set forth with so much interest in Cruse 's memoir, that I take 
pleasure in offering his description of it in his own words. 

•'With these advantages and defects, such as they were," says the 
memoir, " he was to begin the competitions of the bar in a part of 
the country where he was quite unknown, and where much talent had 
pro-occupied the gi-ound, with experience on its side and acquaintance 
with the people and their affairs. There is no part of the world 
where, more than in Virginia, these embarrassments would be less- 
ened to a new adventurer; as there is no where a more courteous 
race of gentlemen accessible to the prepossessions which merit ex- 
cites. There was, however, another embarrassment ; our lawyer had 
no cause. But he encountered here a young friend much in the 
same circumstances, but who had a single case, which he proposed to 
share with Wirt, as the means of making a joint debut. With this 
small stock in trade, they went to attend the first County Court. 

''Their case was one of joint assault and battery, with joint judg- 
ment against three, of whom two had been released subsequently to 
the judgment, and the third, who had been taken in execution and 
imprisoned, claimed the benefit of that release as enuring to himself. 
Under these circumstances, the matter of discharge having happened 
since the judgment, the old remedy was by the writ of audita que- 
rela. But Mr. Wirt and his associates had learned from their Black- 
stone that the indulgence of courts in modern times, in granting sum- 
mary relief, in such cases, had, in a great measure superseded the 
use of the old writ ; and accordingly presented their case in the form 
of a motion. 

" The motion was opened by Wirt's friend with all the alarm of a 
first essay. The bench was then, in Virginia County Courts, com- 
posed of the ordinary justices of the peace ; and the elder members 
of the bar, by a usage, the more necessary from the constitution of 
the tribunal, frequently interposed as amici curi(S, or informers of 
the conscience of the court. It appears that on the c^se being opened, 



\\ 



60 A TRIUMPH. [1792—1794. 

some of these custonuiiy advisers denied that a release to one, after 
judgment, i-eleased the other, and they denied, also, the propriety of 
the form of proceeding. The ire of our beginner was kindled by 
this recej)tion of his friend, and by this voluntary interference with 
their motion ; and when he came to reply he forgot the natural alarms 
of the occasion, and maintained his point with recollection and fii-m- 
ness. This awaked the generosity of an elder member of the bar, a | 
person of consideration in the neighbourhood and a good lawyer. He 
stepped in as an auxiliary, remarking that he also was amicus ciirice, 
and, perhaps, as much entitled to act as such as others ; in which ca- 
pacity he would state his conviction of the propriety of the motion, 
and that the court was not at liberty to disregard it; adding that its 
having come from a new quarter gave it but a stronger claim on the 
candour and lu-banity of a Virginian bai-. The two friends carried 
their point in triumph, and the worthy ally told his brethren, in his j 
plain phrase, that they had best make fair weather with one who pro- 
mised to be a thorn in their side. The advice was, we dare say, 
unnecessary. The bar of that county wanted neither talent nor com'- 
tesy; and the champion having vindicated his pretensions to enter 
the list, was thenceforward engaged in many a coui'teous passage at 
arms. 

" The auxiliary mentioned in the above anecdote, was the late 
General John Miner, of Fredericksburg, of whom Wirt, in subse- 
quent years, often spoke with strong gratitude and esteem. ' There 
was never,' he says, 'a more finished and engaging gentleman, nor 
one of a more warm, honest and affectionate heart. He was as brave 
a man and as true a patriot as ever lived. He was a most excellent 
lawyer too, with a most persuasive flow of eloquence, simple, natural 
and graceful, and most affecting wherever there was room for pathos ; 
and his pathos was not artificial rhetoric ; it was of that true sort 
which flows from a feeling heart and noble mind. He was my firm 
and constant friend from that day through a long life ; and took occa- 
sion, several times in after years, to remind me of his prophecy, and 
to insist on my obligation to sustain his 'prophetic reputation.' He 
left a large and most respectable family, and lives embalmed in the 
liearts of all who knew him.' " 

In this, his first adventure, he was more successful than those who 



Chap. IV.] DESULTORY STUDY. 61 

knew him best had expected. He was indebted for this, in no small 
degree, to the lucky accident of having his temper aroused for the 
conflict. We may suppose, too, that the aid and comfort of that 
powerful ally to whom the story refers, was felt, not less in the kind- 
ness and encom-agement of a friendly countenance bestowed upon the 
young pleader at his &st rising, than in the substantial assistance 
given before the trial was ended. The sympathy of a good-natured 
face, the warm gaze of a friendly eye, and the silent gesture of appro- 
bation and assent, are jjotent antidotes to the alarms which players 
ai"e wont to call " the stage fright," and what, in the Hall of Themis, 
we may term, in analogy to this, "the fright of the bar." 

The ordeal, however, was past. The ice was broken, and the new 
barrister felt that he might thenceforth walk into the courts unques- 
tioned. 

Those who knew Wirt in that day were accustomed to speak of him 
as a gay and happy companion, careless somewhat of the labour of 
his profession, and more disposed to cultivate the congenial pleasures 
of good-fellowship, than to pursue, by any painful toil, the road to 
fame. It was therefore usual to say, that, at this period of his life, 
he gave no very recognizable pledge of that eminence which he after- 
wards attained. It may be true that his studies were not so conver- 
sant with the deeps of legal science, as one might demand from the 
ambitious lawyer, and even that he doffed aside the sometimes admon- 
ishing hopes of a solid professional fame ; but it can scarcely be true 
that an active and apprehensive mind, such as his, was suffered either 
to rust for want of use, or to devote itself to frivolous or useless sub- 
jects. We have many evidences in the letters and other papers which 
have reached us, that the most absorbing passion of his nature was 
a longing for that renown which was chiefly to be won in forensic 
triumphs. We may confess it to be equally true, that there is appa- 
rent, in all that has transpired, regarding this portion of the life of 
Mr. Wirt, a sad want of system in his study. There are minds, how- 
ever, of the very highest power, which seem to reject system with 
instinctive aversion, and to pursue their aims with what might be 
called a capricious versatility of study; which, being susceptible of 
i]vivid impressions from the object upon which they ai"e employed, are 

iapt to be enticed from the course of methodical occupation by the 
Vol. L — 6 



62 PRACTISES IN ALBEMARLE, L1792— 1794. 

athraction of new pursuits, or driven from it by the weanaess or pain 
of the old. 

We may conclude that, to some extent, this remark is applicable 
to the character of Mr. Wirt's mind. With an eye quick to discern 
beauty, whether in nature or art, with a teeming and active imagina- 
tion, with a heart full of the charities of life, and with a keen zest 
for the delights of a frank companionship, it may be believed that 
neither his professional zeal, nor his hopes of future fame, were, at 
all times a match for these antagonists, nor potent enough to guard 
him against their seductions ; that both his studies and his recreations 
were likely to seek their pleasvires in that field where the poetry of life 
held an acknowledged sway over the severer, and we may even say, 
repulsive studies to which ''the youth whom the law destines to a 
bright manhood " is compelled to devote his time. 

He continued to practise at the bar of Culpeper court some one 
or two years, with increasing success ; in the meanwhile extending 
his acquaintance and business connections into the neighbouring 
counties. In this circuit he included Albemarle county, a region of 
A'^irginia especially distinguished for eminent and highly cultivated 
men. The aspiring barrister here found many friends, whose influ- 
ence in the control of his future life was of the most fortunate 
aspect. 



CHAPTER V. 

1794 — 1799. 

/VLBEJklARLE TRIENDS. — DR. GILMER. — MR. JEFFERSON, MR. MADI- 
SON AND MR. MONROE. JAMES BARBOUR. MARRIES MILDRED 

GILMER. PEN PARK. DR. GILMER'S LIBRARY. HOSPITALITY 

OP THE COUNTRY. — DANGERS TO WHICH HE WAS EXPOSED. — 

CHARACTER OF THE BAR. HIS POPULARITY AND FREE HABITS. 

FRANCIS WALKER GILMER. THOMAS W. GILMER, LATE SE- 
CRETARY OF THE NAVY. — DABNEY CARR AND HIS FAMILY. — ■ 

ANECDOTE OF BARBOUR, CARR AND WIRT. STATE OF FLU. 

DEATH OP DR. GILMER. ROSE HILL. LETTER TO CARR. 

Amongst the friends whom Wirt fouud at this period, in Albe- 
marle, was Doctor Gleorge Gilmer. This gentleman, the descendant 
of a Scotch family which had emigrated at an early date to Virginia, 
had been prepared for his profession in Edinburg, and was at this 
time an eminent physician, in the enjoyment of a large practice. 
.He lived at Pen Park, his family seat, in the neighbourhood of 
Charlottesville. He had been noted as a zealous and effective friend 
of the Revolution — had borne arms in the cause; was a man of 
genius, of accomplished education, wit and refinement. Living in 
the immediate neighbourhood of IMr. Jeiferson, and Avithin a day's 
ride of Mr. ]Monroe and Mr. jMadison, it was his singular good for- 
tune to enjoy the intimate acquaintance and friendship of these dis- 
tinguished men. 

Ilis family circle furnished attractions both to old and young. His 
children drew around them many cheerful and happy companions, and 
his own accomplishments, as a man of letters and observation, brought 
him the best society of the time. An elegant hospitality prevailed 
in his household ; choice books were found in his library ; instructive 
and ao-reeable conversation enlivened his fireside. Pen Park exhi- 
bited just such a combination of rare and pleasant appurtenances as 
are likely to make the best impressions upon the mind of an ingenu- 

(63^ 



64 HIS MARRIAGE. [179i— 1799. 

ous and ambitious youth, and to inspire him with zeal in the cultiva- 
tion of virtue and knowledge. 

Of the children who, at this date, graced the family board, there 
were two with whom these memoirs have an intimate connection. 
The first was Mildred, the eldest of the family; the other was 
Francis Walker, the youngest born of a numerous progeny. The 
daughter was richly gifted with the gentle attractions of her sex, in- 
tellectual, kind, cheerful, and noted for her good sense and just obser- 
vation. She was then just growing into womanhood, with all the 
joys of that happy period radiant in her face. The imaginative and 
susceptible young barrister found a fairy land in this romantic spot, 
and a spell in the eye and tongue of the maiden which charmed too 
wisely to be broken. The father's regard for him opened the way to 
a closer alliance, and it was not long before he took his place in the 
family as a cherished son-in-law. 

The marriage was solemnized at Pen Park, on the 28 th of May, 
1795. From this period, "Wirt's residence was established with the 
family of his wife. His practice and reputation increased. Amongst 
several lawyers, then and afterwards well known to fame in that 
region, he is said to have stood on the same platform with the best. 
Of these it would be sufficient to mention the names of Barbour, Ca- 
bell, — now the President of the Court of Appeals of Virginia, — Carr, 
Davenport, Austin, Stuart and others, who will be recognised, by 
those who are familiar with the bar of Virginia, as gentlemen who 
enjoyed a well deserved repute for professional worth, and some of 
whom afterwards attained to an enviable celebrity throughout the 
Union. 

From this date we may observe the steady advancement of the for- 
tunes of the subject of this narrative — shaded now and then, by a 
temporary cloud, — but nevertheless forced onward by the innate 
strength of his character and the impetus of brilliant talents and 
useful attainjnents. Doctor Gilmer became warmly attached to him ; 
brought him into intimate acquaintance with the illustrious persons 
to whom I have referred ; whetted his appetite for elegant literatm-e, 
by the habitual display of his own stores gathered in the diligent 
study of it ; gave fresh vigoiu' to his taste and fancy, by directing his 
studies to the best books. The young student was charmed to find 



Chap. V.] PEN PARK. 65 

sucli happy access .as the Doctor's library afforded, to those fountains 
of English thought and speech which poured their streams through 
the pages of Hooker, Boyle, Locke, Barrow, South, Bacon and Mil- 
ton. From these he drank deep draughts, and filled his mind with 
that reverence for the old literature of our native tongue, which was 
ever after noted as one of the most determinate characteristics of his 
mind. His acquaintance with Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Madison and ]Mr. 
IMonroe, at this date, before either of them had been elevated to that 
high honour which each subsequently attained, led, in due time, to 
confidential esteem and friendship, which was variously manifested 
throughout the lives of the parties. Such a fact as this may be in- 
terpreted to furnish the strongest evidence of the personal merit of 
the indi\'idual to whom it relates. 

Happy, — most auspicious was it for him that he was thrown thus 
early under the guidance of so kind and competent a friend as the 
worthy proprietor of Pen Park. Fortune confers no richer boon upon 
generous and aspiring youth than when she gives him wise and affec- 
tionate friends. To win an honoured place in the household and in 
the heart of a liberal, refined, benevolent and observant gentleman ; 
to be freshly engrafted upon a loving and pure-minded fi:miily ; to feel 
the gentle and considerate kindness of parents seconding and sustain- 
ing the devotion of a wife; to observe all around him the blossoms of 
a new affection, diffusing their fragrance into the atmosphere which 
he inhabits, and daily ripening into fruit for his enjoyment, — there 
are few natures so stolid as not to draw from these environments good 
store of nutriment to improve the heart, exalt its charities, and quicken 
its impulses towards the cultivation of virtue, honour and religion. It 
is true that such blandishments are not exempt from the necessity of 
that vigilant self-control, which every condition of fortune seems to 
exact from a well-ordered mind. The ^-icious enticements of life 
openly challenge us to be upon our guard, and there is no great share 
of merit to be awarded to the youth who, plainly perceiving the danger, 
arms himself in good time against it. But when prosperity enlivens 
all around us, and affection is continually striving to make us happy 
by the offerings of kindness, the heart is sometimes taken uuaAvares 
by its own jocund and overflowing content, and may fall into the 
[snares of that pleasure which the generosity of friendship itself admi- 



6* 



Go HOSPITALITY OF THE COUNTRY. [1794—1799. 

nisters. I do not wisli to conceal the fact that at this time of the life 
of Mr. Wii't, he was not altogether free from the censure of having 
sometimes yielded to the spells of the tempter, and fallen into some 
occasional irregularities of conduct. I am aware that this charo;e has 
been made in graver form, with some amplitude of detail and circum- 
stance. It is partly to correct what is false in this, but much more 
from a consideration of what is due to truth and to the impartial pre- 
sentation of the subject of my biography, that I now allude to it. I 
cannot be insensible, either, to the duty of exhibiting to the youth of 
the country a faithful picture of an eminent man, in whose career they 
may study the best lesson for their own guidance to a life of public 
usefulness and to the reward of an honourable fame. I should not be 
true to this aim if I kept out of view the occasions which should enable 
mo to show how strictly the most virtuous natures should observe the 
tendency of every quick impulse, doubt its safety, and check its first 
extravagance. 

Wirt was now twenty-five years of age. He was companionable, 
warm-hearted and trustful. His mind was quick, and imbued with a 
strong relish for wit and humour. An old friend, who knew him well 
in that day, says of him : " He had never met with any man so highly 
engaging and prepossessing. His figure was strikingly elegant and 
commanding, with a face of the first order of masculine beauty, ani- 
mated, and expressing high intellect. His manners took the tone of 
his heart; they were frank, open and cordial; and his conversation, 
to which his reading and early pursuits had given a classic tinge, was 
very polished, gay and witty. Altogether," he adds, "he was a most 
fascinating companion, and to those of his own age, irresistibly and 
universally winning.'"'" 

Such a character we may suppose to be but too susceptible to the 
influences of good-fellowship, which, in the jollity of youthful associa- 
tion, not unfrequently take the discretion of the votai-y by surprise, 
and disarm its sentinels. The fashion of that time increased this 
peril. An unbounded hospitality amongst the gentlemen of the coun- 
try, opened every door to the indulgence of convivial habits. The 
means of enjoyment were not more constantly present than the solici- 

* Cruse's Memoir. 



Chap, v.] CHARACTER OF THE BAR. 67 

tations to use them. Every dinner-party was a revel ; every ordinary 
visit was a temptation. The gentlemen of the bar, especially, indulged 
in a license of free living, which habitually approached the confines of 
excess, and often overstepped them. The riding of the cii-cuit, which 
always brought several into company, and the adventures of the way- 
side, gave to the bar a sportive and light-hearted tone of association, 
which greatly fostered the opportunity and the inclination for convivial 
pleasures. A day spent upon the road on horseback, the customary 
visits made to friends by the way, the jest and the song, the unchecked 
vivacity inspired by this grouping together of kindred spirits, — all had 
their share in imparting to the brotherhood that facility of temper and 
recklessness of the more severe and sober comment of the world, which, 
it will be acknowledged, is dangerous to youth in proportion to the 
enjoyment it affords. Then, the contests of the bar which followed 
in the forum, the occasions they afforded for the display of wit and 
eloquence, and the congratulation of friends, were so many additional 
provocatives to that indulgence which found free scope when evening 
brought all together, under one roof, to rehearse their pleasant adven- 
tures, and to set flowing the currents of mirth and good-humour, — to 
" make a night of it," as the phrase is, kept merry by the stimulants 
of good cheer. The bar yet retains some of these characteristics ; but 
the present generation may but feebly conceive the pervading and 
careless joyousness with which, in that early time, the members of 
their mirthful craft pursued their business through a country-side. I 
mean no disparagement to the learned and gay profession, but, on the 
contrary, some commendation of the kindly spirit of its brotherhood, 
when I say, that in these incidents of its character and association 
there was manifested something of the light-heartedness and improvi- 
dence of the old-fashioned strolling theatrical companies. The present 
generation will bear witness to many an ancient green-room joke of 
the circuit, which yet floats abroad in Virginia, with a currency 
scarcely less notable than when it was first cast ofi". 

William "Wirt was well known in these associations of Albemarle 
and the surrounding counties, an admired object in the court-house 
during the day, a leading spirit in the evening coterie ; eloquent on 
the field of justice, sustaining his client's cause with a shrewd and 
sometimes brilliant skill ; not less eloquent at the table or the mess 



68 FRANCIS WALKER GILMER. [1794—1799 

room, "where Lis faculties were allowed to expatiate through another 
range, and whei'e he gave reins to the wit and mirth which shook the 
roof-tree. We may not wonder that, in the symposia of these days, 
the graver maxims of caution were forgotten, and that the enemy of 
human happiness, always lying at lurch to make prey of the young, 
should sometimes steal upon his guard and make his virtue prisoner. 

The too frequent recurrence of these misadventures in that day, 
have fm-nished food for much gross calumny in regard to him, and 
have led to the fabrication of coarse and disgusting charges of -vailgar 
excess, which I am persuaded are utterly groundless. The friends of 
Mr. AVirt have seen with regret, that the most offensive of these in- 
ventions have sometimes been used, with many fimciful and absurd 
additions of circumstance, by indiscreet zealots in the cause of temper- 
ance, who have seemed to think it quite excusable to repeat and aggra- 
vate the most improbable of these falsehoods, for the sake of the pi'ofit 
which they suppose may accrue to the world from the use of a distin- 
guished name to point the moral of their story. Whilst not seeking 
to extenuate the irregularities to which I have alluded, beyond what 
they may fairly claim from the circumstances in which they were in- 
dulged, and, indeed, recurring to them only with a profound regret, I 
could not allow the occasion now before me to pass by without this 
open and distinct denunciation of the libels I have seen, and of the 
terms of wanton and malicious exaggeration in which they have been 
repeated. 

Francis Walker Gilmer, the youngest son of the Doctor, will be 
often referred to in the course of this narrative. At the time of Wirt's 
marriage he was but a child. As he grew towards manhood, he de- 
veloped a high order of talent, which led him to the study of the law 
and to the eager pursuit of letters. He was eminently qualified to 
excel in both. An early death, however, deprived the bar of the pro- 
mised distinction which seemed to await the student; and the litera- 
ture of the nation has been enriched only to the amount of a few 
unstudied essays, which acquired a temporary distinction from the 
presage they afforded of what the author was capable of accomplishing. 
Some of my readers will probably remember a few rapid, striking and 
scholar-like delineations of eminent public men, which, some twenty 
years ago, attracted a largo share of nttentic^i at tlie seat of government. 



Chap. V.] DABNEY CARR AND HIS FAMILY. 69 

under the title of " Sketches of American Orators." These sketches, 
collected into a small volume, I believe constitute nearly all that Fran- 
cis Walker Gilmer has left in the way of a contribution to the literary 
store of the country. 

Mr. Jefferson's friendship for Dr. Gilmer was extended to the son, 
an(J Francis was educated almosty entirely under the direction of the 
proprietor of Monticello, whose estimate of his talents and learning 
was frequently manifested, both in written correspondence and per- 
sonal intercourse, by the most flattering expressions of confidence. 
He enjoyed, in scarcely inferior degree, the esteem of Mr. Jefferson's 
friend, the Abbe Correa, some time Minister from Portugal to ,this 
country, a man of distinguished erudition, and always a most welcome 
and admu'ed visiter at Monticello. 

I may mention, in this place, that the family of Pen Park has 
been recently more conspicuously brought to the view of the public 
' by the interest attached to the career of Thomas ^V^alker Gilmer, a 
grandson of the Doctor, not long since governor of Virginia, and later 
still. Secretary of the Navy, which post he held for a few months 
under the disastrous administration of the first Vice-President who 
has ever been called to the Presidential chair of the Union. The 
bursting of the great gun, "the Peace-Maker," on board of the 
Princeton, in February, 1844, will long be remembered in Virginia 
for the sudden and melancholy end it brought to the Secretary, then 
in the prime of vigorous manhood, and in the anticipation of a life 
of increasing honours. 

Wirt, as I have hinted, was not the most sedate of all who rode 
the circuits. In those old-fashioned progresses from court to court, 
when the gentlemen of the bar, booted and spurred, rode forth more 
like huntsmen than learned clerks, — or like the Canterbury 2)ilgrims, 
partially united the character of both, — sedateness was no very 
popular vu-tue in the troop. Amongst those who constituted Wirt's 
associates on these occasions, Dabney Carr was the most intimate. 
James Barbour, also, was a companion and friend of both. These 
friendships, so early began, lost nothing of their kindness or sincerity, 
throughout the vicissitvides and separations of after-life. 

Dabney Carr, the father of the gentleman I have just named, was 
a man of high consideration in the state. He was a member of the 



70 DABNEY CARR. [1794—1799. 

Lcgislaturej in 1773, from Louisa, and most favourably known for 
his ability and zeal on tbe side of the colonies in tlieir resistance to 
the encroachments of the parent government. He was the intimate 
friend of Henry, Nicholas, Lee, Pendleton, Jefferson, — indeed of all 
who had become distinguished in Virginia in promoting the first 
movements of the revolution. 

With Mr. Jefferson he had a nearer connection, having married 
his sister. He died in May, 1773, almost immediately after the 
adjournment of that Legislature in which he had distinguished him- 
self by the spirit and eloquence with which he urged the proposition, 
then first introduced by himself, for a more effective and concentrated 
action of the colonies through the means of committees — a proposition 
which, being adopted, seems to have stimulated the formation of the 
first Continental Congress.* He left behind him six children, of 
whom the three youngest were sons, Peter, Samuel and Dabney. 

Dabney, the youngest of these, was born but a month before the 
death of his father, and was, therefore, not more than half a year the 
junior of his friend and comrade, Wirt. These two young men, so 
near the same age, living in the same part of the country, practising 
at the same bar, possessing great similarity of temper and character, 
both animated by the same ambition, conti-acted an affectionate inti- 
macy which never afterwards lost its warmth, and which, as the 
reader will hereafter perceive, was most pleasantly illustrated in the 
correspondence between them to the latest period of their lives. 

Peter Carr, the eldest of the three brothers, attracted the particular 
notice and regard of his uncle, Mr. Jefferson, in whose published 
correspondence will be found many evidences of the concern he took 
in the education of his nephew. This gentleman had directed his 
attention to the bar, which at that date, much more even than at pre- 
sent, was regarded as the best avenue to distinction. He, however, 
did not practise, but, preferring rural life and the pleasures of philo- 
sophical and literary study, betook himself to a farm in Albemarle, 
where he lived greatly beloved by his friends for his bland, affec- 
tionate and upright character, and admired by all who knew him as 
a polished and elegant scholar. 

* See Mr. Jeflerson's letter to Dabney Carr, April, ISIG. Writings of 
Jeflerson, vol. 4, p. 271. 



Chap, v.] ANECDOTE, A PROPHECY. 71 

Colonel Samuel Carr, tlie second of these sons, is still living, an 
opulent country gentleman, well known both in the political and 
social circles of Virginia, as one of her most valued citizens. He 
resided, during a great portion of his life, upon a landed estate in 
Albemarle, called Dunlora, and represented his district in the State 
Senate, where he acquired an extensive and well-deserved influence. 

It was in the circle of which these gentlemen were amongst the 
most prominent members, that "SYirt found the cherished companions 
of his early forensic life. 

An incident, connected with this period, is worth relating. 

James Barbour, Dabney Carr, and Wirt, were on their customary 
journey to Fluvanna, the adjoining county to Albemarle, to attend 
the court there, "the State of Flu," as that county was called in 
their jocular terms. They had been amusing each other vrith the 
usual prankishness which characterised their intercourse. Wirt was 
noted for making clever speeches, as they rode together. In these, 
he was wont to imagine some condition of circumstances adapted to 
[ his displays. Sometimes he rode ahead of his companions, and, 
waiting for them by the road-side, welcomed them, in an oration of 
mock gravity, to the confines of "the State of Flu," representing 
himself to be one of its dignitaries, sent there to receive the distin- 
guished persons into whom he had transformed the young attorneys 
of the circuit. These exhibitions, and others of the same kind, are 
said to have been of the most comic spirit, and to have afforded many 
a lauo-h to the actors. At the time of the incident I am about to 
relate, the three whom I have mentioned, arrived at Carr's Brook, in 
Albemarle, the residence of Peter Carr, where they dined and passed 
the night. During this visit, whilst indulging their customary mer- 
riment, Barbour entertained them with a discourse upon the merits 
of himself and his companions, in the course of which he undertook 
to point out their respective destinations in after life. " You, Dab- 
ney," said he, "have indulged a vision of judicial eminence. You 
shall be gratified, and shall hold a seat on the Bench of the Court of 
Appeals of Virginia. Your fortune, William," he continued, ad- 
dressing himself to Wirt, " shall conduct you to the Attorney Gene- 
ralship of the United States, where you shall have harder work to do 
than making bombastic speeches in the woods of Albemarle. As for 



72 LETTER TO CARR. [1794—1799. 

myself, I shall be content to take my seat in the Senate of the United 
States." 

This little passage in the lives of the three gay companions, has 
only become notable from the singular fulfilment of the jocular pro- 
phecy in respect to each of the parties. 

Within a year or two after the marriage of his daughter, Doctor 
Gilmer died. In the division of his estate, which became necessary 
upon this event, a portion of it, known as Rose Hill, was allotted to 
the young wife and 'her husband, and here Wirt built a house, which 
thenceforth, nominally, became his residence. Rose Hill was in the 
vicinity of Pen Park, and as its new proprietors had no children, they 
spent so much of their time in the family mansion, as scarcely to 
allow us to say they had changed their dwelling-place. Amongst 
the several letters of Wu't, which have been preserved, belonging to 
this period, I find them all dated at Pen Park, afibrding evidence of 
the fact that the writer had not ceased to regard himself as an inha- 
bitant of the domicil. I am tempted here to give one of these letters 
written, in the spring of 1799, to his friend Carr, which, dealing with 
a matter of no more importance than an invitation to dinner, may, 
nevertheless, interest the reader by the picture it aifords of the light- 
heartedness of its author. 

" I cannot go over to see you to-day, my good friend. And I have 
almost as many, and as solid reasons for my conduct, as Doctor Ross 
had for not wearing stockings with boots. The first of his was, that 
he had no stockings, and his catechiser was satisfied. Let us see 
whether you will be as candid. 

^'Fu-stly. — We have a troop of visiting cousins here, who have 
come from afar, and whom we cannot, you know, decently invite to 
leave our house. 

" Secondly. — We have, perhaps, finer lamb and lettuce to-day, for 
dinner, than ever graced the table of Epicurus, not meaning to imply 
any thing to the dishonour of JDonlora or DunXovVk, — or something, I 
forget what. 

'' Thirdly. — BIr. Ormsby is here, who brings an historical, topo- 
graphical, critical, chronological and fantastical account of Kentucky 
and its inhabitants. 

" Fourthly. — To conclude, wc have determined that, immediately 



Chap. VI] HAPPY LIFE AT PEN PARK. Y8 

upoa the receipt of this, you are to start for this place ; for, you ob- 
serve, that the same reasons which justify my staying at home, prove 
the propriety, and, I hope you will think, necessity of your coming 
hither.''* 



CHAPTER VI. 

1799 — 1802. 

HAPPY LIFE AT PEN PARK. MISFORTUNE. — DEATH OF HIS WIFE. 

RELIGIOUS IMPRESSIONS. DETERMINES TO REMOVE TO RICH- 
MOND. ELECTED CLERK TO THE HOUSE OF DELEGATES. NEW 

ACQUAINTANCES. PATRICK HENRY. RESOLUTIONS OF NINETY- 
EIGHT. RE-ELECTED CLERK AT TWO SUCCEEDING SESSIONS. 

TEMPTATIONS TO FREE LIVING. TRIAL OF CALLENDER FOR A 

LIBEL UNDER THE SEDITION LAW. WIRT, HAY, AND NICHOLAS 

DEFEND HIM. — COURSE OF THE TRIAL. — A SINGULAR INCIDENT. 
— JUDGE CHASE. — NULLIFICATION. — FOURTH OF JULY ORATION. 
— EMBARRASSED ELOCUTION. 

The term of his residence in Albemarle may be reckoned as mark- 
ing the golden days of William Wirt's youth. He came to this region 
poor, and we may say, without friends, — at least, without such friends 

=*=! have to acknowledge my indebtedness, for nuich of what I have been 
able to collect relating to the family of Dr. Gilmer, and Mr. Wirt's connec- 
tion with it, to the kind assistance of the Hon. Wm. C. Rives, of Castle 
Hill, in Albemarle, and of his friend and neighbour, Mr. Franklin Minor, a 
grandson of Doctor Gilmer. I may take this occasion also to express my 
obligations to Mr. David Holmes Conrad, of Berkeley, for some interesting 
particulars relating to Judge Carr, and to Messrs. John R. Thompson, of 
Richmond, the accomplished editor of the Southern Messenger, and John 
M. Muschett, of Charles county, Maryland, for very acceptable contributions 
respecting the early life and professional history of Mr. Wirt. To numerous 
other friends I owe the same acknowledgment for many favours received 
in the course of my occupation upon tliese memoirs, and must content my- 
self with this general proffer of my thanks, for services wliich have not 
been less useful to me than they have been indicative of the highest appre 
ciation of the worth of the subject of my labours. 

Vol. I. — 7 



74 MISFORTUNE. [1799 1802. 

as open to iis the road to fortune. He was inexperienced in the busi- 
ness of life, provided "with no gi*eat store of useful knowledge, not 
yet sufficiently acquainted with the strength or value of his faculties 
to give him assurance of his fitness for the contests through which 
alone the career he had chosen might become prosperous. We may 
imagine him, also, neither over-confident in his discretion nor sanguine 
in his dependence upon the guidance of his judgment. Yet here it 
was his happiness to witness the quick growth of esteem and consi- 
deration ; to become conscious, day by day, of the unfolding of those 
talents which were adequate to the winning of a good renown. Here 
he found himself growing, with rapid advance, in the affections of a 
circle of friends, whose attachment was then felt as a cheerful lieht 
upon his path, and which promised a not less benign radiance over 
his futiu-e days. But above all other gratifications, here it was that 
he became an inmate of that delightful home which love had furnish- 
ed, and which wise counsel and instruction made as precious to the 
mind, as its other allurements ha'd made it to the heart. 

We err, if we believe that a life of unmixed content is the most 
auspicious to the fortunes of a young aspirant for fame. It need not 
be told to those who have been most active in the emulous trials by 
which consideration is won in the world, that the highest order of 
talent stands in need of the spur of occasional disappointment to 
stimulate its vigour, nor that a career of uninterrupted enjoyment is 
apt to dull the lustre of the brightest parts, and extinguish the am- 
bition of the most generous and capable natures. Adversity is not 
unfrequently the most healthful ingredient in the cup of human 
experience, and the best tonic to brace the mind for those encounters 
in which virtue is proA'ed and renown achieved. 

Wirt was brought to the test of this truth more than once during 
that period of happy sojourn amongst the delights of Pen Park. 
^Ve have already noticed the death of Doctor Gilmer, his instructor, 
guide and friend. In the fifth year of his marriage a more severe 
calamity fell upon him, in the loss of his wife. This event came 
with an overwhelming anguish, to teach him, if not the first, certainly 
the most painful lesson of his life, upon the uncertainty of human 
happiness and the duty of establishing our hopes upon surer foun- 
dations than tht; treasures of earth. 



Chap. VI.] REMOVES TO RICHMOND. 75 

There is observable in the early letters of Mr. Wirt, some occa- 
sional indications of that sentiment of reverence for religious subjects, 
•which, towards the close of his life, had expanded into the prominent 
characteristic of his mind. No occasion of hilarity, no companion- 
ship of wild and careless spirits, no youthful indiscretion seems ever 
to have betrayed him into the profanation of subjects esteemed sacred, 
or fo the practice of the scoifs and jests which are too currently in- 
dulged in the festivities of thoughtless youth, or of unthinking age. 

The death of his wife naturally strengthened this sentiment, and 
furnished occasion for the improvement of his heart, in the entertain- 
ment of more earnest pui-suit and study of religious topics. I do not 
mean to affirm that this event led him to any external profession of 
religious duty ; or that it, in any very perceptible degi-ee, altered his 
demeanour in the presence of the world ; but it had its influence in 
impressing more deeply upon his character that profound sense of the 
sacredness of spiritual truth, and the solace of Christian faith, which 
every healthful, reflective mind finds in the meditations which are 
prompted by the death of those we love. 

The time had now come when he was once more to be thrown upon 
the world. His marriage had been without children. There was 
no tie but that of friendship and the remembrance of an overthrown 
aiiection, to hold him to this spot. He was young. The world was 
still before him ; not less promising in its oS"er of the prize of am- 
bition than it had been. Friends beckoned him to the labours of a 
fresh contest. An aching memory drove him from the scenes that ^ 
surrounded him. The mind torn by grief yields readily to the solici- 
tations of adventure, and finds a double stimulus to action, in the 
desire to escape from present suffering, and the hope to surround it- 
self with new objects of afiection. 

He determined to establish his residence in Richmond. Before he 
abandoned Pen Park, he placed a tablet over the grave of her who 
had first brought him to this spot. The inscription upon it tells, in 
brief, nearly the whole history of this portion of his life — for it 
speaks of the two events most indelibly impressed upon his heart, and 
the sentiment that filled up the interval between the two dates to 
which they refer : 



76 CLERK OF THE HOUSE OF DELEGATES. [1T99— 1802. 

"HERE LIES MILDRED, 

Daughter of Geouge axd Luct Gilmer, Wife of William Wiht 

She was born August 15ih, 1772, married May 2Sth, 1795, and 
died September 17di, 1799. 

Come round her tomb each object of desire, 
Each purer frame inflamed with purer fire, 
Be all that 's good, that cheers and softens life, 
The tender sister, daugliter, friend and wife. 
And when your virtues you have counted o'er. 
Then view this marble and be vain no more" • 



L 



Thus closed a short episode in his life, which comprehended some 
five years of early manhood, illusti-ated by his first access of that circle 
of friends who became the solace of his after days, and by the expe- 
rience of the purest of all delights, the associations of the domestic 
hearth, its aifections and its virtues. 

The bitterness of that misfortune which broke in upon this period 
of content, for a time suspended his practice, and drove him to other 
scenes and occupations. He went to Richmond, where the Legis- 
lature was in session. His friends in that body persuaded him to 
become a candidate for the post of clerk of the House of Delegates. 
The emoluments of this office were sufficient for his comfortable sup- 
port ; and the duties belonging to it were not so engrossing but that 
he might pursue his profession whilst he held it. The office itself 
was one of sufficient consideration to be regarded by a young man, to 
whom all public station was new, as an advancement in the career of 
life. It had been occupied in past time, by Chancellor "Wythe, by 
Edmund Randolph, and others of name and fame in the State. Wirt 
was elected, and forthwith entered upon its duties. 

This appointment was so far serviceable to him that it brought him 
into acquaintance with some of the most distinguished men of the 
day. Mr. Madison, whom he had previously known, Mr. Giles, Mr. 
Taylor of Caroline, and IMr. Nicholas, were members of the Legisla- 
ture at this session. Patrick Henry had also been elected to a seat 

* I am ahriost afraid to claim these verses as original. But I believe they 
were written by IMr. Wirt. If my reader, more conversant tlian I am with 
the stores of tliis kind of literature, should be able to trace them to another 
author, he will excuse my error. They resemble in style and structure some 
few poetical effusions of Mr. W., which have come to my hands. 



CiiKv. VI.] PATRICK HENRY. 77 

ill the House of Delegates, but his death, which took place a few 
months after his election, deprived "Wirt of the opportunity to make 
a personal acquaintance with, or even to see, the great orator whose 
fame it became his province afterwards to commemorate. 

jMr. Henry's participation in this Assembly had been looked to 
with a most profound interest throughout the State. The celebrated 
llesolutions of Ninety-eight had passed at the previous session. 
Henry's hostility to these resolutions had awakened his characteristic 
zoal in the cause of the country, and had brought him out from his 
retirement, once more to seek active duty in the field of his old re- 
nown. This was at a time when his constitution, greatly shaken and 
enfeebled by disease, had left him physically but the wreck of what 
he had been, though in mental power, we may infer, from what is 
told of the eagerness with which he threw himself into this contest 
with the distinguished men who sustained the resolutions, his infirm- 
ities had not yet lessened his confidence, nor quenched the ardour 
of his matchless eloquence. He had sided with the Federal Govern- 
ment on the questions which gave rise to those resolutions ; and had 
expressed himself to the electors in his county, during his canvass, in 
terms of deep and unalterable hostility against the position which 
Virginia had assumed at this crisis. In his addresses, on this occa- 
sion, to the people, all his ancient fire seems to have rekindled, and 
there was every indication given that, in the approaching session of 
the Legislatm-e to which he was elected, his monitory voice would be 
heard in rebuke of the proceeding of the previous Assembly, as clear 
and as stirring in its notes, as of old it had been heard, above the din 
and tumult of the Revolution. The side he had taken on this ques- 
tion was remarkably unpopular. It was in opposition to the opinions 
of the great majority of the people of Virginia, and to that of the 
most venerated and powerful political leaders. His hostility had 
raised Mr. Madison and his compeers, to whom I have already re- 
ferred, to the defence of the resolutions, and it was every where hinted 
that the coming session was to be one of extraordinary interest. So 
strong was the feeling against Mr. Henry for his course in this junc- 
ture, that his oldest and best friends were alienated from him. Some 
excused what was called his aberrations, on the ground of his age and 
' infirmities ; others, less charitable, imputed them to worse motives : — 



7* 



78 RESOLUTIONS OF NINETY-EIGHT. [1779—1802,, 

all looked to him, however, friend and enemy, with intense interest, , 
to note his conduct, hear his argument, and weigh his opinions ; all 1 
conscious that in this, probably the last scene in his public life, a great 
effort would be made to sustain his fame. Death came to his rescue, 
to save him from a contest in which, whatever might be the weight 
of his wisdom, the glory of his eloquence, or the integrity of his 
heart ; however brilliant the exhibition of all these, they would have 
proved unavailing either to conciliate the friendship of estranged com- 
patriots, or to overcome the hostility of the excited nimibers who had 
already prejudged and condemned him. His triumph might, in no 
event, be won for the day in which he lived. Time only could be re- 
garded as the true arbiter of his wisdom. Doubtless, when he re- 
solved upon that contest, he sought no guerdon of applause from the 
present ; he looked only to the future. The sage who has filled the 
measure of his days, and who, standing upon the margin of the grave, 
has no longer a motive to temporize with human passion or succumb 
to personal interests, scruples not to defy the world's opinion and to 
utter unwelcome truth to the generation around him, — has even a 
positive pleasure in this duty. He appeals to posterity for judgment, 
and is content to bide its coming. Old age contemplating its access 
to the world of eternity, instinctively inclines to reckon itself as asso- 
ciated with the future, and therefore more delights to speak to a 
coming generation than to that which it is about to leave. 

How far Mr. Henry's opinions, in regard to the famous " Resolu- 
tions of Ninety-eight," have been justified by what has been deve- 
loped since, is a speculation which may amuse those who take plea- 
sure in exploring the tendency of the mind to exaggerate the 
importance of political events in the time of their bringing forth, and 
to remark how often and how significantly Time satirizes man's 
wisdom by turning the current of his fancied great exploits into 
channels which lead to nothing, losing their stream in the sand. 
These resolutions, so noted, have already served out their time, and 
have been cast into the great receptacle of abstractions, as things of 
no useful import. Professing to be expositions of the constitution, 
they already require expounders themselves ; and, apparently, being- 
scarce deemed worthy of the study of a commentator, they have been 
abandoned to their fate. They are now seen only as a buoy, floating 



Chap. VI.] GAY SOCIETY OF RICHMOND. 70 

where there is no shoal, and warning the navigator of clangers to 
which he has learned to trust his keel, without precaution or alarm. 

So great, however, was the excitement against Mr. Henry, at the 
time to which I have referred, that, upon the announcement of his 
death to the Legislature, and the suggestion of a monument to com- 
memorate the gratitude of Virginia in behalf of the great patriot and 
orator, party zeal so far triumphed over the honourable pride of the 
representatives of the State, as to dismiss the proposition. And, 
from the silence of the journals of subsequent legislatures upon this 
proposal, the dismissal seems to have been final. 

Wirt served, in his new office, with credit and full public approba- 
tion through the session, and was re-elected to the same post in the 
two succeeding years. If the society which Richmond afforded him, 
during his term of public duty, served to extend his acquaintance 
and good repute with those whose esteem is amongst the most pre- 
cious things of life to a young man, it also brought him into some of 
those perils to which he was, from his character, peculiarly exposed. 
The Legislature was a concoui'se of gay and ungoverned youth, as 
well as of wise and sober age. The city in which the Legislature sat 
was somewhat noted, of old, for its choice spirits, its men of wit and 
pleasure, and its manifold inducements to tax the discretion of those 
who had no great store of that commodity to meet the requisition. 
The young clerk of the House was a great favourite with all. Every 
door was opened to him ; every gay circle welcomed his coming, and 
the favour and admiration of friends were overpaid by draughts on an 
exchequer which suffered more from what it received than from what 
it disbursed, — a witty and playful spirit, which could not be exhausted 
in its outpourings, but which, too often, lost its guidance in the cloud 
of homage it brought around itself. 

This portion of his life, IMr. Wirt, in his own rex-iew of it, was 
accustomed to consider as one of great temptation. Indeed, in the 
midst of its enjoyments, he was often led to reflect upon the necessity 
of a more severe devotion to his better aims, as he conceived them to 
be, in the steady pursuit of his profession. 

He held the post of clerk of the House of Delegates during three 
sessions of the Legislature. In the first year of this term of service, 
he was brought somewhat conspicuously to the public observation as 



80 TRIAL OF CALLENDER. [1799—1802. 

(lie counsel of Callender. This person, who seems to have made a 
trade of libelling, who had been equally, at different periods, the 
calumniator of "Washington, of Adams and of Jefferson, was indicted, 
in the spring of 1800, at the instance of Samuel Chase, then the pre- 
siding; Juds:e of the Federal Grovernment over the Circuit which com- 
prehends Richmond, for the publication of a pamphlet which had 
gained an extensive notoi'iety, at that period, for a scandalous assault 
upon the existing administration. This pamphlet was entitled '■'■ The 
Prospect before us," and is yet remembered by many as one of the 
most pungent and acrimonious tracts connected with the political 
excitements of that day. The indictment of Callender was one of the 
first prosecutions under the sedition law. The enactment of that law 
had, in part, supplied the topic to the Virginia Resolutions, which, as 
we have seen, were yet a prominent subject of public discussion. 
The impolicy of this law, and the eager denunciation of it by a pow- 
erful and, indeed, now predominant party in the Union, gave to the 
prosecution of Callender a factitious importance, very much above 
what either the book or its author might have challenged on the score 
of their own significance. 

The counsel for Callender were George Hay and Philip Norborne 
Nicholas, both young men holding a most respectable position at the 
Richmond bar. Wirt was associated with them in the cause, and 
was the youngest lawyer of the three. The case seems to have been 
a clear one, and Callender was convicted. In the impeachment of 
Judge Chase, some five years later, before the Senate of the United 
States, it was charged against him, in reference to this trial, that his 
conduct during the whole course of it was marked "by manifest 
injustice, partiality and intemperance." Amongst the specifications 
to sustain this charge Avere the following : 

"In the use of unusual, rude and contemptuous expressions to- 
wards the prisoner's' counsel, and in insinuating that they wished to 
excite the public fears and indignation, and to produce that insubor- 
dination to law to which the conduct of the judge did, at the same 
time, manifestly, tend. 

" In repeated and vexatious interruptions of the said counsel, on 
the part of the said judge, which at length induced them to abandon 



Chap. VI.] COURSE OF TEir; TRIAL. 81 

their cause and their client, who was thereupon con\ncted and con- 
demned to fine and imprisonment." 

Judge Chase was known to be of a peremptory and absolute tem- 
per ; and the testimony upon his impeachment shows, what, at least, 
may be said to be, a severe and perhaps discourteous bearing t-awards 
the counsel in this case. But, as an answer to the charge of manifest 
injustice, partiality and intemperance in his demeanour, the unani- 
mous vote of acquittal — the only unanimous vote of the Senate in the 
icase, — is conclusive. 

"We may infer, therefore, that the abandonment of the defence of 
Callender by his counsel, was one of those theatrical incidents — coups 
de theatre — which ingenious advocates are sometimes known to con- 
trive, as more efficacious in the way of defence, than the attempt to 
breast an array of inevitable and discomfiting facts. Such a device 
seems well suited to a state trial, in which auditors and jury are sup- 
!posed to have all their sympathies and good wishes with the prisoner. 
lilt was a political afiiiir, in public estimation, and the retirement of 
llcounsel, under the pretext of being driven off by the hectoring temper 
lof the judge politically hostile to the prisoner, was likely to be re- 
garded not as a confession of the guilt of their client, but as an 
appeal to the jury, and an invocation to them to take him into their 
protection. The facts, however, were too clear against Callender, and 
the adroit counsel were disappointed in the efficacy of the movement, 
:if it were dictated by the considerations I have suggested. 

"We must, however, confess that the dogmatism of the judge, not 
to say the positive harshness of his treatment of the counsel, may 
have been the true and only motive for their retirement ; although 
the point might be strongly argued against the right of an advocate, 
in a cause which he conscientiously- believes to be good, to desert his 
client and leave him to his fate, under any amount of provocation or 
insult from a judge, which did not actually disable him from perform- 
jing his duty. 

jMr. Hay and ]Mr. Nicholas were both examined as witnesses on 

the impeachment. From their testimony it appears that the chief, 

if not the only defence of Callender, was upon the constitutionality 

of the sedition law, which point, it would seem, they were desirous 

■ should be submitted to the jury. The judge was known to be unal- 

p 



82 COURSE OF THE TRIAL. [1779—1802. 

terable in his view of the constitutional question ; and there being no 
hope from him, the counsel insisted upon the power and the right off 
the jury to nullify the act of Congress; — a heresy, we may call it., 
which has been revived in a later day, and which has fared no better ij 
with the American people than it did upon its first production, withii 
Judge Chase. This doctrine, the first and almost the only fruit of ' 
the Resolutions of Ninety-eight, has been, froii first to last, a Dcadl 
Sea apple which has crumbled into dust whenever it has been lifted 1 
to the lips. 

Our young advocate figures in this scene. I extract what rc];>tcs 
to him from Mr. Hay's testimony before the Senate. 

"■ It Was the intention of the counsel of Callender," says that gen- 
tleman, upon his examination, " to defend him on the ground of the ^ 
unconstitutionality of the sedition law. The gentlemen who were 
associated with me preceded me in the argument, but were not per- 
mitted to address the jury on the point I mentioned. The treatment 
experienced by Mr. Wirt, I have, in some degree, related. He was 
interrupted two or three times by the judge, for the purpose of tell- 
ing him that the doctrine for which he was contending, — that the jury* 
had the right of determining the law as well as the fiict, — was true. 
Mr. Wirt then stated ' that the constitution was the supreme law of .' 
the land.' Judge Chase told him ' there was no necessity for proving i 
that ' Mr. Wirt then went on to argue ' that if the constitution wass; 
the supreme law, and if the jury had a right to determine both the ; 
law and fact of the case, the conclusion was perfectly syllogistic, that i 
the jury had a right to determine upon the constitutionality of the ~ 
law.'" 

Upon this, the same testimony states, Judge Chase replied, " That's ^ 
a non sequilur, sir." 

'' At the same time," says Mr. Hay, " he bowed with an air of ' 
derision. Whether Mr. Wirt," he continues, " said any thing after r 
this, I do not recollect." Mr. Hay then detailed his own course in J 
the argument : his urging upon the judge that this was a question fot'i 
the jury — " I stated to the court, in terms as distinct as I could, the 
specific purpose for which I meant to contend. I think it Was, that 
the jury had a right to determine every question which was to deter- 
mine the guilt or innocence of the traverser. The judge asked me 



Chap. VI.] SINGULAR INCIDENT. 83 

whether I laid down this doctrine in civil, as well as criminal cases ; 
' because/ said he, ' if you do, you are wrong.' I replied that I con- 
sidered it universally true, but that it was sufficient for my purpose, 
if it applied to criminal cases only. I went on as well as I was able 
with the argument, when I was again interrupted by the judge, 
i What the circumstances were, or the words used, I do not recollect. 
I believe that I was interrupted more than twice. My impressions 
then being, that / should be obliged to undergo more liuviillation than 
I conceived necessary, I retired from the bar. When Judge Chase 
found I was about retiring, he told me to go on. I told him that ' I 
would not.' He said 'there was no necessity for my being captious.' 
I replied that ' I was not captious, and that I would not proceed ;' and 
immediately retired from the bar, and, I believe, from the room in 
which the court was held." 

Mr. Nicholas says, after Mr. Wirt sat down, " I followed him, and 
was not interrupted by the judge. Mr. Hay followed me, and ob- 
served that the jury had a right to decide the law. Mr. Chase asked 
him whether he meant in civil as well as in criminal cases, because if 
he did, he was wrong. Mr. Hay replied that he conceived the pro ■ 
position to be universally true — ^l^ut that it was sufficient for his pur- 
pose if it applied to criminal cases. He then proceeded a little further, 
and was again interrupted by the judge. Mr. Hay then stopped, 
folded up his papers, and left the court ; and ice left it at the same 
time. What happened afterwards, I know not." 

So, the three young lawyers trooped out of court, with their papers 
bundled up. Hay led the van, and young Wirt, with his laughing 
eye, and sly, waggish face, casting queer glances, no doubt, right and 
left, amongst the bar inside of the railing, and the spectators outside, 
brought up the rear. 

This was a scene under the Kesolutions of Ninety-eight. Callen- 
der, we must suppose, quailed now, on being deserted by his cham- 
pions, before the awful majesty of Chase's brow. The jury, we may 
imagine too, were affiseted to indignation and anger, and the crowd 
moved to pity at Callender's forlorn and friendless state. The bar 
perhaps, indulged a little secret comment, — whispered in their sleeves, 
some laughing hints of miscarriage ; — and the three retired counsel, 
after wearing the face of indignant patriotism for a limited time, when 



84 JUDGE CHASE — NULLIFICATION. [1799— 1802- 

they got together at one oi" the others' office, we must believe, had 
some rather jocular misgivings whether Callender would fiire the bet- 
ter for this first effort at nullification ; or congratulated themselves at 
getting out of a case that was pretty sure to go awry. 

When Judge Chase came to deliver the opinion of the court, his 
language, in reference to the question which seems to have raised the 
indignation of the counsel, was as follows : 

" I will assign my reasons why I will not permit the counsel for 
the traverser to offer arguments to the jury, to urge them to dp what 
the constitution and law of this country will not permit, and which 
if I should allow, I should, in my judgment, violate my duty, disre- 
gard the constitution and law, and surrender up the judicial power of 
the United States. 

;|; >|; * * * * 

" The statute on which the traverser is indicted, enacts ' that the 
jury who shall try the cause shall have a right to determine the law 
and the fact, under the direction of the court, as in other cases.' By 
this provision, I understand that a right is given to the jury to deter- 
mine what the Jato is in the case before them, and not to decide 
whether a statute of the United States produced to them is a Jaw or 
not, or whether it is void under an opinion that it is unconstitutional 
— that is, contrary to the constitution of the United States. 

H: H< =!= ^- * 5^ 

" I cannot conceive that a right is given to the petit jury to deter- 
mine whether the statute, under which they claim this right, is con- 
stitutional or not. To determine the validity of the statute, the Con- 
stitution of the United States must necessarily be resorted to and 
considered, and its provisions inquired into. It must be determined 
whether the statute alleged to be void, because contrary to the Consti- 
tution, is prohibited b}^ it expressly or by necessary implication. Was 
it ever intended by the framers of the Constitution, or by the people 
of America, that it should ever be submitted to the examination of a 
jury to decide what restrictions arc exjyressly or impliedly imposed 
by it on the National Legislature? I cannot possibly believe that 
Congress intended by the statute to grant a right to- a petit jury to 
declare a statute void. The man who maintains this position must 



Chap. VI.] FOURTH OF JULY ORATION. 86 

have a most contemptible opinion of the understanding ot" that body. 
IJut I believe the defect lies with himself." 

This is a short extract from an opinion at some length, in which 
the question is most ably argued. Whether the concluding remark 
of the paragraph above quoted, was designed as a reflection personal 
to the counsel in the case, or not, it certainly may be regarded as dis- 
courteous, and indicative, perhaps, of some degree of temper, which 
we may believe to have been I'oused by the collision which the trial 
produced. If there was any purpose of reflection upon the counsel in 
it, we have reason to infer that it was not specially provoked by the 
deportment of Wirt, towards whom the judge seems to have retained 
the kindest feelings. Speaking of the incidents of his trial on the 
impeachment, soon after it was concluded, to a friend of the young . 
cou.nsellor, after whom he had inquired with an aiFectionate interest, 
he remarked : " They did not summon him on my trial. Had I 
known it, I might have summoned him myself. Yet it was only to 
that young man I said any thing exceptionable, or which I have 
thought of with regret since." 

The trial of Callender took place in May, 1800. On the fourth of 
July following, Wirt delivered an anniversary oration, for which pur- 
pose he had been selected by the democratic party in Richmond. It 
is characterised by the author of the memoir to whom. I am indebted 
for so many particulars contained in this narrative, as '' fervid and 
rapid," '^ unpremeditated" in its manner, and is said to have been 
pronounced "so little like other prepared orations as to have been 
thought extemporary." 

In the early period of his professional life, as we have already re- 
marked, his elocution was far from being easy and unembarrassed. 
It was of that character which would be most likely to impart the idea 
that even a prepared oration, such as this to which the memoir alludes, 
was the extemporaneous production of the occasion. The hesitation 
at one moment, the too rapid flow of utterance at another, and frequent 
stammering, might leave such an impression on the hearer. Mr. Wirt, 
in speaking of his difficulties in this particular, once said to a friend : 
" My pronunciation and gesture at this time were terribly vehement. 
I used sometimes to find myself literally stopped, by too great rapidity 
of utterance, xind if anj^ poor mortal was ever forced to struggle 

Vol. I. — 8 



86 ELECTED CHANCELLOR. [1802—1803. 

a/rainst a rlifficiilty, it was I, in that matter. But my stammering 
)jccame at last a martyr to perseverance ; and, except when I get some 
of my youthful fires lighted, I can manage to he pretty intelligihle 

now.'^ 

This was his recollection, after the lapse of many years, and was 
always pleasantly dwelt upon by him, as coupled with the reflection 
how completely he had vanquished these difiiculties of enunciation, by 
careful attention and judicious practice. 



CHAPTER VII. 

1802—1803 

ELECTED TO THE POST OE CHANCELLOR VALUE OF THIS AP- 
POINTMENT — REASONS FOR ACCEPTING IT — COL. ROBERT GAM- 
BLE — COURTSHIP A THEATRICAL INCIDENT SECOND MAE- 

RIAGE — REMOVES TO WILLIAMSBURG — LETTERS TO CARR 

RESIGNS THE CHANCELLORSHIP, AND DETERMINES TO GO TO 
NORFOLK. 

In the session of the Legislature which terminated in the winter of 
1802, the last of the three sessions in which Wirt was the clerk of 
the House of Delegates, an act was passed for dividing the Chancery 
jurisdiction of the State into three districts. Heretofore the whole 
of this jurisdiction had been vested in a single Chancellor; and the 
venerable George Wythe had, for a long period, discharged its duties, 
with a fidelity and learned skill which have placed him in the rank 
of the most eminent jurists of the country. The increasing business 
of the court, however, had now rendered it indispensable that the 
labour should be distributed, and the Legislature had therefore passed 
the act to which I have referred. 

The clerk of the House was agi-ceably surprised, before the close 
of this session, to find that the Legislature had selected him for one 
of these new appointments. He was altogether ignorant of their pur- 
pose to confer this honour upon him, luitil the moment when he was 
requested to withdraw from the House of Delegates, in order that his 



CiTAP. VII.] DIFFIDENCE OF WIRT. 87 

nomination might be made and the election iDroceeded with. He was 
elected by a unanimous vote. An honour of such magnitude, con- 
ferred under such circumstances, speaks very intelligibly as to the 
estimation in which the subject of it was held. He was at this time 
twenty-nine yeai's of age. He had the professional experience of his 
country practice in Albemarle, and that of some two years in the more 
extended theatre of the Richmond courts ; but he was still what might 
be considered a junior at the bar, and scarcely in a position to attract 
the public attention for a post so grave and responsible in its duties 
as a Chancellor, unless we suppose him to have given decided and 
satisfactory manifestations of a capability to attain high eminence in 
his profession. I-t had not entered into his imaginings to expect such 
a mark of favour from the Legislature. The same diffidence in him- 
self which forbade him to solicit such a distinction, now wrought in 
him some perturbation of spirit in the accepting of it. It is not always 
the quality of true genius to distrust itself, for there are instances of 
men of the brightest parts obtruding themselves upon the public, with 
that eager self-commendation which we are accustomed to call vanity 
in weaker minds ; but this attribute of diffidence is so generally the 
accompaniment of youthful merit, that we scarcely err when we reckon 
upon it as one of the signs by which we may prophesy future success. 
So full of apprehension was the newly-designated Chancellor on this 
occasion, of his ability to acquit himself in this high function with 
credit and usefulness, that, it is told of him, he called upon the Gro- 
vernor, Mr. Monroe, — then, and always afterwards, his friend, and 
who most probably had something to do with the nomination, — to 
communicate his doubts and fears as to his suitableness, either in age 
or acquirement, for the post. ''Mr. Monroe," says my authority, 
" replied, that the Legislature, he doubted not, knew very well what 
it was doing, and that it was not probable he would disappoint either 
it or the suitors of the court." * 

The district assigned to him in this appointment, comprehended the 
eastern shore of Virginia and the tide-water counties below Richmond. 
The duties of the station required that he should reside in Williams- 
burg, a point rich in associations with the history of the State, and 
where was to be found a cultivated and refined society, in every re- 

* Cruse's Memoir. 



88 REASONS FOR ACCEPTING. [1802—1803, 

spect most likely to prove agreeable to tlie tastes of the new fimc 
tionary. 

In adverting to tliis appointment and its consequences, in the fol 
lowing letter to his friend Carr, written after he had reached Wil- 
liamsburg, he reveals the considerations which influenced him, in 
terms which show how justly and how deeply he was impressed with 
the necessity of a more sedate pursuit of those better aims in life to 
which I have more than once referred. It will be remarked, in the 
reading of the fii'st paragraph of this letter, that Carr was desirous to 
obtain the clerkship just made vacant by the preferment of his friend. 

Williamsburg, February 12, 1802. 
My Dear Dabney: 

This moment I received yours of the 5th. First, with regard to 
the clerkship. You will have heard, before this reaches you, that on 
the evening preceding the last day of the session, James Pleasants 
was elected clerk, for the purpose of making his way easy at the next 
session. If, after this, you determine to offer for the place, you may 
expect from me all that the warmest friendship can perform. And 
though I am removed from the immediate scene of action, I flatter 
myself I could be of service to you. 

* vf -5,- -;{• -A- * 

Now, for my Jio7iour. As to the profit, it is a decent main- 
tenance. Next year, the probability is, it will be worth five hundred 
pounds, — on which I can live. And although the clerkship, together 
with my practice, would have produced more cash, yet it was preca- 
rious, and therefore subjected me to the hazard of living beyond its 
limits. It was earned, too, by that kind of labour which left no op- 
portunity for the further cultivation of the mind. 

There is another reason, entre nous. I wished to leave Richmond 
on many accounts. I dropped into a circle dear to me for the amiable 
and brilliant traits which belonged to it, but in which I had found, 
that during several months, I was dissipating my health, my time, 
my money and my reputation. This conviction dwelt so strongly, so 
incessantly on my mind that all my cheerfulness forsook me, and I 
awoke many a morning with the feelings of a madman. 

I had resolved to leave llichmond, and was meditating only a 
decent pretext to cover my retreat. In this perplexity, the appoint- 
ment descended upon me, unsolicited, unthought of, vv'ith the benevo- 
lent grace of a guardian angel. Yes, my dear Dabney, if I do not 
fill the office with justice, at least, to my country, it shall not be for 
want of unremitting effort on my part. 

* * -x- * -x- * 

Your friend, 

Wm. "Wirt. 



Chap. VII.] COL. ROBERT GAMBLE. 89 

The Chancellor entered upon his employment, as we may infer 
from this letter, with a hearty resolve to make this event an era from 
which he might date the beginning of a graver and more steadfast 
career of duty and self-control. 

During his residence in Richmond, his good fortune brought him 
into an intimacy with the family of Colonel Robert Gamble. This 
gentleman was a merchant in that city, and was greatly esteemed for 
his probit}^ and intelligence. He was wealthy, or, at least, in the 
enjoyment of a competency which enabled him to practise a liberal 
hospitality. His fireside was familiar to the most cultivated society 
of the time. His manners were grave and thoughtful, such as attract 
the deference of the elder portions of the community, and command 
the reverence of the young. 

The clerk of the House of Delegates had a special motive, beyond 
that of his companions who frequented Colonel Gamble's house, to 
desire his good opinion. His unguarded life, unfortunately, rendered 
this, perhaps, a more hazardous venture, than many others found it. 
His intimacy brought him within the sphere of the attraction of one 
who was destined to become the guardian spirit of his life. It was 
not long after the period to which our narrative has now arrived, that 
Elizabeth, the second daughter of Col. Gamble, became the wife of 
the subject of this memoir. Of all the fortunate incidents in the life 
of William Wirt, his marriage with this lady may be accounted the 
most auspicious. '' During the long term of their wedlock, distinguished 
for its happy influence upon the fortunes of both, her admirable vir- 
tues, in the character of wife and mother, her tendgr affection and 
watchful solicitude in every thing that interested his domestic regard, 
and in all that concerned his public repute, commanded from him a 
devotion which, to the last moment of his life, glowed with an ardour 
that might almost be called romantic. 

In the many letters which have been preserved, written by Mr. 
Wirt to his wife, beginning in the earliest period of their acquaint- 
ance, and continued to the last, most of which have passed under the 
review of the author of this biography, — if such confidences could be 
published to the world, they would exhibit to the reader the most 
agreeable evidences of an attachment of which time had no power to 
dull the edge, and which not less intensely engrossed the affections 
S* 



90 A- THEATRICAL INCIDENT. [1802—1803. 

of liis mature age, than it commanded the worship of his early man- 
hood. No eulogy can better express the merit of a woman, than such 
a tribute from one so able to observe, and so formed to appreciate 
female excellence. 

This prize was not won without many apprehensions. The lover 
had not yet given that hostage to fortune which might be said to 
strengthen the assurance of the father in the success of the young 
votary. 

The giving away a daughter's hand is a perilous and responsible 
office to a parent. Men weigh this matter, often, with painful 
anxiety, even when the foundations for hope are strongest. The 
clerk of the House, we must admit, was not in the safest category for 
a father's ready consent. There are some men who ripen early, and, 
at eight or nine and twenty, have their full freight of discretion and 
judgment. There are others whose boyhood runs into a later date. 
Wirt was one of these, as they who were intimate with him in 
advanced life might testifj'. A certain boyishness of character, if I 
may call it so, did not altogether desert his mature age, and, indeed, 
often disputed the mastery in it. 

Colonel Gamble, the story goes, had his doubts whether the suitor 
should be presently sped in his enterprisie, or whether he should 
wait for a longer probation. When he wa^ consulted by the mis- 
giving candidate on that awful point, 'Ho be, or not to be," there 
was some demur, and the young gentleman was put upon his good 
behaviour. 

During this interval, as the tale has been told. Colonel Gamble 
had occasion, one summer morning, at sunrise, to visit his future son- 
in-law's office. It unluckily happened that Wirt had, the night 
before, brought some young friends there, and they had had a merry 
time of it, which had so beguiled the hours, that even now, at sun- 
rise, they had not separated. The Colonel opened the door, little 
expecting to find any one there at that hour. His eyes fell upon the 
strangest group ! There stood Wirt, with the poker in hio right 
hand, the sheet-iron blower fastened upon his left arm, which was 
thrust through the handle ; on his head was a tin wash-basin, and, as 
to the rest ' of his dress — it was hot weather, and the hero of this 
grotesque scene had dismissed as much of his trappings as comfort 



Chap. Vlf.] SECOND MARRIAGE. 91 

miglit be supposed to demand, substituting for tbem a light wrapper 
that greatly added to the theatrical effect. There he stood, in this 
whimsical caparison, reciting, with an abundance of stage gesticula- 
tion, Falstaff's onset upon the thieves. His back was to the door. 
The opening of it drew all attention. We may imagine the queer 
look of the anxious probationer, as Colonel Gamble, with a grave and 
mannerly silence, bowed and withdrew, closing the door behind him 
without the exhange of a word. 

How long this untoward incident might have deferred the hopes 
of the young people, we cannot say ; but the promotion to the Chan- 
cellorship came in, most opportunely, to sustain the pretensions of the 
lover, and to furnish a new pledge for his future sedateness ; and all 
further trial was dispensed with. He was married in Richmond, on 
the 7th of September, 1802. 

He held the Chancellorship but some six or seven months after his 
marriaae. The duties attached to it were onerous, exacting nearly 
all his time, whilst they excluded him from that various practice upon 
which he had built his hopes of eminence. The salary was too small 
to meet the demands of a family, and at his time of life he felt that 
such a post was to be regarded rather as an impediment to his pro- 
gress than a furtherance. The chief advantage-to be derived from it 
was the testimony it gave to the world of his standing in his profes- 
sion, and that benefit was not likely to be greatly enhanced by his 
continuing to hold it. A judicial appointment, in this country, may 
justly be regarded as the appropriate honoui- of professional life after 
the active period of ambitious- labour is past. It is best adapted to 
that stage when men may be supposed anxious to exchange the 
severer toils of practice for honourable elevation, and for the leisure 
that may enable them to digest and improve the studies which, in the 
importunities of full occupation at the bar, generally produce fruits 
more abundant than ripe. But to a young lawyer, stimulated by the 
hope of fame and by the ardour of genius, intent upon mastering his 
profession and turning it to good account in the attainment of wealth, 
such an appointment is but a hindrance at every step after the first. 

These considerations were brought very cogently to his mind in the 
position in which he now found himself In the month of November 
he removed his wife to Williamsbm-g, and devoted himself throughout 



92 REMOVES TO WILLIAMSBURG. [1802—1803. 

the ensuing winter with assiduity to the duties of his office. During 
this period he made up his mind to rehnquish his judicial honours, 
and to throw himself once more upon his profession. The public 
attention was at that time strongly drawn to Kentucky, as a field 
especially propitious to the enterprise of the young. Numbers of the 
most respectable families of Virginia had already migrated to that 
State, and the marvels of its rapid growth and teeming prosperity 
were recounted with such commendation as to raise a general fervour 
in behalf of settlement in this El Dorado of the West. We have 
since become familiar with these charms of western adventure, and 
have seen the vast wilderness beyond the Allegany spring into civi- 
lization, refinement and luxury, with an impulse that even transcends 
all that the excited imagination of the day to which our narrative 
refers ever promised. At that time, however, the promise was mainly 
directed to Kentucky, and thither the tide of emigration from Vir- 
ginia and the other central States chiefly tended. 

Wirt was caught by this common fervour, and began seriously to 
meditate upon a removal to the new country. Friends in Kentucky 
urged him to come, painting to him in glowing colours the success 
and advancement that awaited him. . Friends in Virginia advised him 
to go, seconding and confirming all the arguments which the first had 
used in the way of inducement. ^ There was, however, one richly 
deserving the name of a true and generous friend, who advised a con- 
trary resolve, and entreated him to remain in Virginia. This gen- 
tleman was Littleton Waller Tazewell, then a most prominent member 
of the Norfolk bar, and subsequently greatly distinguished through- 
out Virginia and the Union as one of the leading lawyers and poli- 
ticians of that State. His advice to Wirt was to adhere to that society 
in which he had already experienced so much favour, and to establish 
his hopes of advancement upon the exercise of his talents at the bar 
of Virginia. To enforce this solicitation, Mr. Tazewell offered to 
share with him his own practice in Norfolk, and to throw in his way 
every advantage which his legal connections might put at his dis- 
posal. The letters which follow to his friend have a reference to 
these questions, amongst others, which are debated with a pleasant 
mixture of good sense and gaiety of temper particularly characteristic 
>f the writer. 



Chap. VII.] LETTER TO CARR. 93 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, February 13, 1803, 
Carissime Currus: 

****** 

This honour of being a Chancellor is a very empty thing, stomach- 
ically speaking; that is, although a man be full of honour his sto- 
mach may be empty; or, in other woi'ds, honour will not go to 
market and buy a peck of potatoes. On fifteen hundred dollars a 
year, I can live, but if death comes how will my wife and family live ? 
Her father and mother perhaps dead, her sisters and brothers dis- 
persed to the ends of the earth, what will become of her ? This is 
the only rub that clogs the wheels of my bliss, but it is in my power 
to remove even this rub, and, in the event of my death, in a few 
years to leave my wife and children independent of the frowns or 
smiles of the world. 

What I have to ask you, then, is, shall I, for the sake of a little 
empty honour, forego the pleasure of this independence ? a pleasure 
which would soothe me even in the hour of death ; or shall I, for the 
sake of attaining this blessed independence, and the contentment and 
dignity of mind which belong to it, renounce at once the star\ang 
honour which I now possess ? You may see, from the terms in which 
I state the case, that my own mind is in favour of the latter renun- 
ciation. Nevertheless, it would give me great satisfaction that my 
friends, too, approved of my plans. 

The counsels of my friends in Virginia and Kentucky, press me 
with fervour to the latter country. There is an uncommon crisis in 
the superior courts of that State, and I am very strongly tempted to 
take advantage of it. I would go to the bar, and bend all the powers 
of my soul and body to the profession for fifteen years. In that time, 
I have no doubt, I should have amassed a sufficiency of wealth, to 
enable me to retire into the lap of my family, and give up my latter 
days to ease. 

In the course of my business there, too, it would be my study so 
to unite my dignity with my interest as, in my old age, to be able to 
lead my sons (if I am blessed with sons) upon the theatre of life, so 
as to pre-engage for them the respect and confidence of the world, 
that they might never blush at the mention of their fixther's name, 
unless it were a blush of reflected honour and virtuous emulation. 
These are the scenes which dance befoi;e my delighted imagination, 
which I believe by no means chimerical; on the contrary, if I enjoy 
my natural health, I have no doubt (from the actual experience of 
others in the same State) of my ability to realize them. Such is the 
prospect on one hand. On the other, it is possible that I may, like 
Mr. Wythe, grow old in judicial honours and Roman poverty. I 
may die beloved, reverenced almost to canonization by my country, 



94 LETTER TO CARR. [1802— ISOJ. 

and my wife and children, as tlaey beg for bread, may have to boast i 
that they were mine. Honour and glory are indeed among the 
strongest attractions, but the most towering glory becomes dust in the 
balance when poised against the happiness of my family. 

If you think it right that I should resign, the questions which re- 
main are, when shall I do so, and in what country shall I resume the 
practice of law ? 

As to this when ? I am thirty years of age ; fifteen years more 
will make me forty-five. In my opinion, a man of forty-fis-e ought to ^ 
be able to work or play as he pleases. I have no notion of toiling 
on till I am too old or too infirm to enjoy even retirement: — so that 
I have no time to lose. 

As to the where ? In Virginia, the most popular lawyer in the 
State merely makes the ends of the year meet, — I mean Edmund 
Kandolph. I have this from the gentleman who keeps his books. 
Virginia, therefore, is not the country for my purpose. The federal 
city is not to my taste, or interest. It would require too much time 
there to take root. In the soil of Kentucky, every thing flourishes • 
with rapidity. Besides, I love the ardent character of the State; 
and, moreover, it is a country calculated to give a man his choice of ' 
modes of life. Land being cheap and fertile, he may farm it on his- 
country-seat, or dash away, when his wealth will authorise it, in the 
circles of the gay, or float his commercial speculations down the Mis- 
sissippi. This latter view of the subject is meant to apply to the 
various \dews of those to whom I shall, with the blessing of heaven, 
give my name. 

Pray let me have your thoughts at large on this subject. 
******* 
Heaven preserve you. 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

TO DABNEY CARR 

Williamsburg, March 20, 1803. 
******* 

You speak of my removal to Kentucky like a friend. The sepa- 
ration from many who are dear to me will be painful. It is a pain 
which I seem to have been destined to suffer more frequeutly than 
almost any body else equally fond of friends. From the time I first 
left my native roof (at the age of seven) I have lived nowhere, except 
merely long enough to let my affections take a firm root, when, either 
want or calamity has torn me up, and wafted me into some strange 
and distant soil. Eight or ten times I have experienced this fate : — 
and although a separation from those whom I love and who love me, , 
however often repeated, would still be painful^ I derive comfort from i 



Chap. VII.] 



LETTER TO CARR. 95 



the thought that my stars have never yet thrown me upon a soil too 
cold or barren for" friendship and love. And besides, were I to re- 
main here, I should be almost as much lost to you and my other 
beloved friends in Albemarle, as if I were on the banks of the Ohio. 
I owe you, my dear friend, a detail of the reasons which actuate me 
in this measure, and I render it with pleasure. 

If I had nothing else to consider but the immediate support of my 
family, I should be obliged to resign my Chancellorship. Although 
you cry out "qui fit jMecoenas," it is not caprice, but the iron hand 
of want, which impels me to this resignation. It is true that by re- 
jecting every social advance from the inhabitants here, which I should 
be obliged to do, since I could not return them ; by immuring myself, 
from day to day and forever, within the solitary walls of my own 
house, my salary might be sulficient to purchase bread and meat, and 
such raiment as such a life might require ; but these are conditions 
which I choose not to impose either on others or myself. Another 
consideration, replete with terror, is that, as my salary depends on 
my own life, my death would throw my wife and children on the 
charity of a cold and selfish world. All these things considered, and 
also that I am now in the prime of life, I would ask whether it would 
not be mean, little, and worthy of eternal infamy, to sit quietly down 
against the light of conscience, and see these misfortunes coming upon 
me, one after another, in direful succession? Would you think a 
man worthy of your friendship who should be capable of such dis- 
graceful indolence ? 

The resignation of the Chancellorship becoming thus inevitable, the 
only remaining question is, where shall I resume the practice of my 
profession ? The answer clearly is, in that country where I can, with 
most certainty, achieve the object for which I resign. That is, a sup- 
port for my family, independent of the world and of my own life. You 
understand me. This is a question which I have deliberately consi- 
dered — not in the delirium of a Kentucky fever, " hissing hot. Master 
Brooke," but with all the scrupulous, conscientious coolness of which 
my mind is capable. 

You ask, why quit the State which has adopted, which has fostered 
mc, which has raised me to its honours ? It is the partiality of your 
friendship which puts this question. I am sure that it is very imma- 
■^erial to Virmnia where I I'eside. 

***** 

I throw this point entirely out of the question, and consider simply 
the interests of my fomily : to this I am determined that every feeling 
of private attachment and prepossession for Virginia shall bend. 
Knowing, as I have done experimentally, the agony to which the 
want of wealth, or at least independence, exposes any mind not devoid 
of sensibility, it becomes a point of conscience, in the first place, and 



96 RESIGNS THE CHANCELLORSHIP. [1802—1803. 

soon an object of pleasurable, of delightful pursuit, to shelter those 
who are dear to me from all dan2;er of the like torment. Having 
once effected this purpose, death, who would be to me now a king of 
terrors indeed, would become merely a master of ceremonies to intro- 
duce me into the apartments above. 

You ask me how many you could name who are now amassing at 
the bar, in this country, wealth as fast as their heai-ts can desire, or 
quite fast enough ? I answer, I don't know how many you could 

name. W., it is true, made a fortune. C. is also making a 

fortune. With the exception of these two, there is not another 

individual who has hitherto done this at the bar of these courts, or 
who is now in the way of doing so. I am not sure of John Taylor 
of Caroline. He, however, practised at a most auspicious period; 
such a one as does not now exist. Baker, Innes, Pendleton, Wythe, 
Marshall, Washington and others, — what have they made by the pro- 
fession ? Not more than the most ordinary lawyer in Kentucky is 
able to do in five or six years. 

•X- *:- -K- -x- * 

Between ourselves, I was thirty years old the eighth day of last 
November. Have I any time to lose ? and, considering " the uncer- 
tainty of life and the certainty of death," is it not the highest wisdom 
to improve every flying moment to the best advantage ? Ten years 
of life would do but little here. In Kentucky, they might and proba- 
bly would make my family affluent. 

For the first time in my life (and with shame I confess it) I look 
forward, my dear Dabney, with a thoughtful mind, and a heart aching 
with uncei-tainty, to the years that lie before mc. I cannot abide the 
reflection that the time shall ever come when my conscience shall re- 
proach me with having neglected the interests and happiness of my 
family ; with having involved, by my want of energy and enterprise, 
a lovely and innocent wife, with a group of tender and helpless child- 
ren, in want and misery. 

* «■ -X- * * 

But Hope, like an angel of peace, whispers to my heart that this 
shall not be. She does, indeed, sketch some most brilliant and ravish- 
ing scenes to my waking as well as sleeping fancy. Wealth, hmc, 
respect, the love of my fellow-citizens, she designs with the boldness 
and grandeur of an Angelo, Avhile, with all the softness and sweetness 
of Titian's pencil, she draws my wife and a circle of blooming, beau- 
teous and smiling cherubs, happy as innocence and peace and plenty 
can make them. 

***** 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 



Chap. VII.] A SPECULATION. 97 

The ChaucellorsLip was resigned in May, 1803, and the project of 
<he emigration to Kentucky abandoned. Wirt now determined to 
lake up his abode in Norfolk, in accordance with Mr. Tazewell's 
Advice, although, for the present, he still resided in Williamsburg. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, June 6, 1803. 

Well, sir, you have heard that I have disrobed myself of the 
Chancellor's furs, and I feel much the cooler and lighter for it. Not 
but that there was some awkwardness in coming down to conflict with 
men, to whom, a few days before, my dictum was the law. The 
pride was a folse one, and I revenged myself on it. I feel little 
triumph in being thus able to get out of myself, to survey, from an 
intellectual distance, the workings of my own heart, to discern and 
to chastise its errors. 

The man who can thus make an impartial and candid friend of 
himself, has gained a great point in the reformation and perfection 
of his character. 

Thus it is that a man balances the account of his feelings ; morti- 
fication presents her charge, and vanity raises a countervailing item. 

You are aware that I am already done with the Kentucky project. 
I heard, very lately, that there was no cash in that state; that fees 
were paid in horses, cows and sheep, and that the eminence of their 
lawyers was estimated by the size of their drove, on their return from 
their circuits : while, on the other hand, I was drawn to Norfolk by 
the attractions of her bank. 

The single experiment which I have made, justifies this latter 
move. I have been to one District Court, at the town of Suffolk, 
received cash two hundred and eleven dollars, and received other 
business, from substantial merchants, making the whole amount of the 
trip five hundred and twent^^-eiglit dollars, which I consider as no ill 
omen of my future success. In one word, I am assured, and I have 
cvei-y reason to believe it, that my annual income will be twelve 
hundred pounds, on one-half of which I can maintain my family, even 
were it much larger than it is. Two or three years' practice will put 
me in the possession of cash which, in such a place as Norfolk, I shall 
be able to turn over to the greatest advantage ; siid, all things con- 
sidered, I do not think the hope extravagant, that by the time I am 
forty, or, at farthest, forty-five, I shall be able to retire from the bar, 
in ease and independence, and spend the remainder of my life in the 
bosom of my familv, and in whatever part of the country I please, — 

Vol. L — 9 ' o 



98 PROFESSIONAL SUCCESS. [1803. 

SO that I think it not improbable I shall, at last, lay my bones near 
you, in the county of Albemarle. 

Jj^ 'J* 'I* ^1^ 'j^ *|^ 5|C 

I leave this place to-morrow. 

Adieu, my dear friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

1803. 

COMMENCES PRACTICE IN NORFOLK. — PROFESSIONAL SUCCESS. 

LETTER TO POPE. COMMENTS ON THE PARSIMONY OF JUDICIAL 

SALARIES. BIRTH OF HIS ELDEST CHILD. RELIGIOUS SENTI- 
MENTS. TRIAL OF SHANNON. SINGULAR CASE OF CIRCUM- 
STANTIAL EVIDENCE. REMOVES HIS RESIDENCE TO NORFOLK. 

After the resignation of the Chancellorship, Wirt repaired to 
Norfolk to recommence the practice of the law in that borough. His 
family residence, however, was still kept up at Williamsbuig, and 
was not changed until the ensuing winter. 

His reputation, increased by his late official position, now began to 
bring in to him a full harvest of professional fruits. He found him- 
self at once inducted into what, at that day, was termed a large 
practice, and it was manifest that he was rising rapidly to a com- 
manding eminence at the Virginia bar. 

Amongst the letters of this period I find one which dwells, some- 
what in detail, upon his progress in his profession, and contains some 
strictures upon the policy of the State Government in reference to 
judicial salaries. These strictures have not lost their point at the 
present day, and may be read with profit in other sections of the 
United States than Virginia. 

This letter is written to one of the first and best of Wirt's friends 
in that state. The name of William Pope will frequently occur in 
these pages connected with a familiar and playful correspondence. 
This gentleman, now an octogenarian, still survives to attract the re- 
gard of a large circle of friends, whose most cherished recollectiou of 



Chap. VIII.] LETTER TO POPE. 99 

liim invariably associates him with the memoiy of the subject of these 
memoirs. 

He resided, at the date of this correspondence, as he does at the 
present time, (1848,) at Montpelier, his family seat in Powhatan — a 
central point between Richmond and Albemarle, somewhat famous 
of old for the good-fellowship attracted by its worthy proprietor. 

TO WILLIAM POPE. 

Richmond, August 5, 1803. 
My Dear Sir : 

# «. -x- * * * 

It gives me pleasure to find that my resignation is not disapproved 
by my friends. To me, the measure was indispensably necessary. 
The present subsistence and future pi'ovision of my family depended 
on it. I only wish that it may lead the way to some resignation 
whose inconvenience the State would sensibly feel. Such an event 
would bring our fellow-citizens to their senses on the subject of sala- 
ries. To be sure, in a republic, public economy is an important 
thing; but public justice is still more important; and there is cer- 
tainly very little justice in expecting the labour and waste of a citizen's 
life for one-third of the emoluments which he could derive from de- 
voting himself to the service of individuals. Most surely there is no 
ground on which such a sacrifice could be justly expected, except, in- 
deed, on the ground of public necessity. If Virginia were too poor 
to pay her oihcers, it would then become patriotic, indeed it would 
become a duty, to make this sacrifice to the country's good. But as 
it is merely the will and not the j)ower that is wanting, it is out of 
the question to expect that a man should make a burnt-offering of 
himself, his wife and his children, on the altar of pubhc avarice or 
public whim. It is really humiliating to think, that although these 
plain truths will be acknowledged by any member of the Legislature 
to whom you address them in private, yet there is scarcely one man 
in the House bold enough to vote his sentiments on the subject, after 
a call of the yeas and nays : — he will not dare to jeopard his re-election 
by such a vote. Where is the difference between an Assembly, thus 
unduly influenced, and the National Assembly of France, held in 
duress and impelled by the lawless shouts of a Jacobinic gallery? 
"Would a Cato or a Brutus, in the Roman Senate, even have sup- 
pressed, much less belied, his real sentiment from a fear of public 
censure ? Or is public virtue a different thing now from what it was 
in their time. But the best of human institutions have their de- 
fects, — and this is one of those which cleave to the glorious scheme 
of elective government. In all cases, whatever may be his own 
opinion, the representative seems to think himself a mere mirror to 
reflect the will of his constituents, with all its flaws, obliquities and 



100 ■ JUDlCIAl- ^^AL\RIES. [iy03. 

distortions. Even when he knows that it will injure the country, be j 
will but echo the popular voice, with the single motive of retaining ; 
his ill-deserved office rather than offend the people by honest service. 
This brings to my recollection that Eoman Consul who was sent to i 
oppose Hannibal. He was pressing the Carthaginian sorely, when , 
his enemies at Home, envious of the glory which he was about to i 
gain, procured a peremptory mandate by which he was recjiuired im- ■ 
mediately to lay down his commission and appear at Rome to answer ' 
a criminal impeachment. But he saw that a few days more of service ; 
would deliver his country from the invader, and therefore, neither' 
indignant at his country's ingratitude, nor appalled ])y her menaces, 
he dared to disobey. Hannibal was vanqi^ished, — Eome was saved, 
and a triumph was decreed to the disobedient victor. What member 
of our Assembly is like this consul ? 

I am very much obliged, by the friendly apprehensions which you i 
express for my health, on account of the climate of Norfolk. But I 
believe that Norfolk is not at all dangerous, except in the latter end I 
of August, September, and the beginning of October ; and during ; 
these months, I shall be able to leave the place without any material I 
injury to my revenue. The prospect which it holds out to me, i3! 
flattering in the highest degree. I am already engaged in very pro-- 
ductive business in five courts ; so that you will perceive my plan is i 
now too broad to admit of the enlargement which you so kindly pro- 
pose to me. I am very sanguine that, with the blessing of Provi- 
dence, I shall be able to retire from business in ten or fifteen years, , 
with such a fortune as will place my family, at least, above want. 

* * * ->:- -K- rr 

And how do you prosper, my good friend ? Does fortune flow in i 
upon you in a golden deluge ? I hope it does. Good men only ■ 
deserve to be rich, because they only are disposed to employ their • 
wealth for the good of the world. But things in general take a dif- • 
ferent turn, and none grow rich but the selfish and the sordid. Our ; 

friend B , however, is an illustrious exception to this remark. . 

A more feeling, a more benevolent, a more philanthropic heart never; 
palpitated in the bosom of a man. I love him because he makes no ) 
parade of his sympathies. He is good, and kind, and tender ini 
secret; and he is satisfied with the silent, yet genial approbation of ' 
his own heart. But, because he is not a scribe or pharisee, to stand I 
in the market and crossways to render ostentatious charities, audi 
because he still thi-ives and prospers, the malignant world has slan- • 
dered him as selfish and miserly. 



* * * 



■K- 



I beg you to give my sincere and fervent love to him. Eememberf 

me, also, if you please, to that excellent little fellow, Q ■, and I 

heliovo me, dear Pope, 

Your friend, 

W.M. Wirt. 



Chap. VIII.] RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 101 

Oa the 3d of September, witliin a few weeks after the date of this 
letter, Wirt's eldest child, Laura Henrietta, was born. 

This event awakened his feelings to new resolves in the way of 
duty, and, what is worthy of note, to a more full and open recogni- 
tion of those sentiments of religious faith to which I have heretofore 
adverted, and in the gradual development of which, throughout the 
progress of his life, we shall see a natural and agreeable illustration 
of the tendencies of a highly intellectual mind to seek for its security 
and content in the sacred wisdom of Christianity. 

We have a strong evidence of this conviction in a letter to Mrs. 
Wirt, written to her in Richmond, whilst her husband was employed 
in the duties of his profession at Williamsburg. In submitting a few 
extracts from this letter, I must express the reserve I feel against 
the violation of those confidences which belong to a relation that, of 
all others, is least suited to the exposure of its secrets to the world. 
The free utterances of the heart, in such a relation, may very rarely 
and scantily afford a theme for public comment, even with the most 
delicate caution in the disclosure. To bring them within the confines 
of what is due to the proper office of biography, much must necessa- 
rily be omitted ; and, in regard to that which is given, the reader will 
receive it with the allowance which may justly be claimed for commu- 
nications which were never designed for perusal beyond the family 
hearth, or to encounter a remark that was not suggested by the near- 
est and most affectionate sympathy with the writer. 

I may hereafter have many extracts to make from this portion of 
Wirt's correspondence, and I therefore announce, in advance, the con- 
sideration which shall induce me to withhold much more than I sub- 
mit, and which I hope will equally relieve me from the imputation of 
improperly invading the sanctuary of private affection, and what I may 
offer from the criticism of fastidious readers. 
On the present occasion he wi'ites : 

* * * a Yom- reason will forbid you to lament my 
absence too deeply, when you reflect what it is has carried me away. 
It is not misfortune ; but, strong in health, flushed with hope, and 
animated by the consciousness that I am in the discharge of my duty, 
I go to prepare more prosperous days. * =fs * * Thia 
is the reflection which, with the smile of Heaven, shall not only sup- 
9* 



102 RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. [1803. 

port me through fatigue, but sweeten all the toils of my profession. 
How rugged would the path even of duty appear ; how fruitless, how 
solitary, how disconsolate would even prosperity be, if I alone were to 
taste it ! It is the thought that my wife and children are to share it 
with me — * * * These are the fond ideas which pos- 
sess my soul ; which never fail to smooth my brow in the midst of 
tumult, to speak peace to my heart, and to scatter roses over my path 
of life. 

" How much do I owe you ! Not only the creation of my hopes 
of happiness on earth, but the restoration of my hopes of happiness in 
a better world. * * * j j^^gt confess that the natural 
gaiety of my character, rendered still more reckless by the dissipation 
into which I had been allured, had sealed my eyes, and hidden from 
me the rich mheritance of the righteous. It was you, whose example 
and tender exhortations rescued me from the horrors of confirmed 
guilt, and taught me once more to raise my suppliant mind to God. 
The more I reflect on it, the more highly do I prize this obligation. 
I am convinced, thoroughly and permanently convinced, that the very 
highest earthly success, the crowning of every wish of the heart, would 
still leave even the earthly happiness of man incomplete. The soul 
has more enlarged demands, which nothing but a communion with 
Heaven can satisfy. The soul requires a broader and more solid basis, 
a stronger anchor, a safer port in which to moor her happiness, than 
can be found on the surface of this world. 

* • • * # ♦ * 

" Remembering how often Heaven snatches away our idols, to show 
as the futility of sublunary enjoyments, and to point our thoughts and 
affections to a better world, I pray that its kindness would so attemper 
my love for my wife and her child, as not to destroy the reflection, 
that for them, as well as every other blessing, I depend on the unme- 
rited beneficence of my God ; and never to permit my love for them 
to destroy my gratitude, my humble dependence on the Father of the 
Universe, whose power is equalled by his parental kindness and 
mercy. 

" How should I be laughed at if this letter were read by those who 
were once my wild companions ! How should I be envied if they 



Chap. Vlll.] TRIAL OF SHANNON. 103 

tnew the sweet feelings with which I have poured out these reflec- 
tions, warm from my heart I" 

Constitutionally gay and light-hearted as the author of this letter 
always was, even to the latter days of his life, and noted in youth for 
what might almost be deemed the excess of this temperament, these 
evidences of his graver thoughts and feelings cast a mellow tint over 
his character, and furnish an early presage of the predominating hue 
which distinguished it in the evening of his career. 

He was, about this time, concerned in the trial of a cause in Wil- 
liamsburg, together with his friend Tazewell and Mr. Semple, (a gen- 
tleman who was afterwards promoted to the bench,) as counsel for a 
man by the name of Shannon. This case is only remarkable as a 
curious instance, both of the conclusiveness of circumstantial evidence, 
and the uncertainty of the verdict of a jury, when perplexed by the 
eloquence of adroit counsel. 

Shannon was arraigned for the murder of his father-in-law, who had 
been shot at night, in his own house, through the window. No motive 
was known to exist for the deed ; the murderer was unknown ; and 
the circumstances of the case almost defied investigation. The death 
was produced by buckshot. The morning after the murder, whilst 
the neighbours, and such others as the rumour of the deed had brought 
together, were examining the premises, to find some clue to the disco- 
very of the assassin, and had come almost to the point of abandoning 
the inquiry as hopeless, one amongst them, a man somewhat noted for 
his shrewdness in curious investigation, placed himself in what he 
concluded must have been the post occupied by the murderer when 
the shot was fired ; then, examining along the line of the direction of 
the fii-e, he discovered a small piece of letter-paper, which manifestly, 
from the mark of powder and fii-e upon it, must have been part of the 
wadding of the gun. This paper had a single letter, 7n, vrritten upon 
it, and torn from the word to which it belonged. About the moment 
when this discovery was made, some one remarked that Shannon, the 
son-in-law, had not been present that morning. His absence on such 
an occasion was thought strange ; and, forthwith, a general inquiry 
was made after him. With no stronger ground for suspicion than 
this fact, a search was immediately made to ascertain where he was. 
He dwelt on the opposite side of James Eiver, some seven or eight 



104 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. [1803. 

miles distant; but it was proved that lie bad been in Williamsburg;; 
the day before, with a gun which was without a lock. A blacksmith, 
who gave this testimony, stated, moreover, that Shannon had brought 
the gun to him to be repaired, and he not being able to repair it that 
day, it was taken away in the condition in which it was brought. A 
party now set out for Shannon's house. He was not there : he had 
not been there during the night. They pursued their quest, and found 
him at last, thirty miles off, in a tavern, asleep, with his clothes on. 
Upon being arrested and examined, a few buckshot were found in his 
l^ocket, and a letter with one corner torn off, to which the fragment 
picked up at the house of the deceased was applied, and found to fit, 
coupling the letter m with y, and showing its proper relation in a 
written sentence. These facts, it seems, were not strong enough to 
persuade the jury of the guilt of the prisoner. One of the twelve, 
more scrupulous tban the rest, or, we may infer, more susceptible to 
the influences of the specious eloquence of counsel, who were, doubt- 
less, very ingenious, as the phrase is, in the defence of the suspected 
culprit, '' hung out," and, as a consequence, starved out his compeers, 
and so brought them to the confession that they could not agree ; and 
they were accordingly discharged, and Shannon was allowed to go 
forth unmolested, to claim the benefit of his successful speculation. 

Wirt appears to have excited great expectations as the counsel in 
this case. The court-house at Williamsburg was thronged with 
visiters, — a large number of ladies amongst the rest, — and his speech 
in the case is remembered as one of the best of his early displays at 
the bar. 

In a letter to his wife, written when this trial was about to come 
on, 29th Sept. 1803, there is the following reference to it : 

" Only one Judge to-day — Winston. Parker is expected to-night. 

* * * * 5|t * 

" The gallery was full of ladies, expecting to hear (as C tells me) 

Mr. W defend Shannon. — 'Vain creature!' say you. — Vain 

enough; but not on this account. The man who knows and feels 
his own foibles, and can draw off from himself so far as to make a 
proper estimate of his own imperfections, will not be hurt by the flat- 
teries of others. 

« * 4: 4c * * 



Chap. IX.] REMOVES TO NORFOLK. 105 

" What do you think of Shannon's gallantry? Although in irons 

and chained to the wall and floor, he has made a conquest of the 

gaoler's wife, and she has declared her resolution to petition for a 

divorce from her husband, and follow Shannon, if he is acquitted, to 

the end of the world." 

****** 

In the month of December, Wirt took a house in Norfolk, and by 

the commencement of the new year, 1804, he removed his family 

thither, to make it, for the future, his permanent abode. 



CHAPTER IX. 

1803 — 1801. 

THE BRITISH SPY. ENEMIES MADE BY IT. — LETTERS TO CARR, 

WITH SOME ANECDOTES CONNECTED WITH THE PUBLICATION OF 
THE SPY. HIS OPINION OP THAT WORK. 

Wirt now appears in the character of an author. During the 
month of August, 1803, he commenced the letters of The British 
Spy. They were published in September and October, in "The 
Argus," at Richmond. 

The popularity of The British Spy, had scarcely a parallel in any 
work, in the same department of letters, which had, at that date, been 
contributed to American literature. It may be regarded as having 
conferred upon its author a distinct and prominent literary repu- 
tation. 

The reader of these letters, at this day, will express his surprise 
that the public judgment should have given such weight to a produc- 
tion so unlaboured, and so desultory. He will not fail to perceive, it 
is true, in these essays, an agreeable foretaste of high literary accom- 
plishment ; but he will regard this rather as the earnest of a talent to 
achieve a distinction in letters, than the achievement itself; and he 
will find occasion, in the singular success of this little book, to re- 
mark how eagerly the taste of this country was disposed, at that 
period, to welcome any clever effort to contribute even the lightest 



106 THE BRITISH SPY. [1803—1804. 

donation towards the increase of our small ?tock of na'i iial author- 
ship. 

These letters are written in a polished and elegant style, exhibit- 
ing, very notably, a most accurate study and appreciation of the best 
standards of English literature. They deal with such topics of super- 
ficial obseryation as a casual residence in Virginia, and particularly at | 
Kichmoud, might be supposed to supply to an educated foreigner. 
The distinctive traits of Virginia society, manners, opinions and popu- 
lar institutions, are glanced at with a happy focility of observation; 
some geological questions are discussed with an acuteness of remark 
and fullness of information which demonstrate that the science to 
which they refer was a favourite study of the author. But the chief 
topic, and one which, it is evident, furnished the predominant motive 
to the writing of the letters, is that which leads him to a dissertation 
upon modern eloquence, and the illustration of it by a picture of some 
of the leading lawyers of Virginia. To this theme he had obviously 
given a careful study, and sought to embody its conclusions in these 
letters. He performs this duty with the love of a student expatia- 
ting on his chosen pursuit. The British Sj^y may, in this respect, be 
considered as the treatise "De Oratore" of one who was no small 
proficient in the art, and, in that light, may be read with profit by 
every aspirant to the honours of the public speaker. He who does 
read it will regret that a master who could so happily instruct, has 
not, at greater leisure, with larger scope and at a maturer period of 
his life, given to the world a volume on this topic enriched by his own 
varied experience and profound philosophy. 

The success of these letters astonished no one more than their 
author. They were written rapidly, and committed, almost as soon as 
written, to the columns of a newspaper, where they appeared with 
every blemish and imperfection to which such a medium of publica- 
tion was liable. Although a studied concealment of the authorship 
was preserved, during the period of publication and for some time 
afterwards, this did not protect the writer either from vehement sus- 
picion at first, nor from the final determination of the paternity of the 
book by the community. 

In some of the portraits which the author drew of his contempo- 
raries at the bar, he is said to have given offence, and to have brought 



Chap. IX.] ENEMIES MADE BY IT. 107 

upon himself threats of reprisal. At the present time, so remote 
from that which witnessed these agitations, we marvel that comments, 
so little derogatory to the personal excellence of the subjects of them 
— which, in fact, rather infer and sustain their reputation, as men 
sufficiently prominent to form examples and studies — that these 
should have embittered any one against their author. It is, never- 
theless, true, as we shall see in some of the correspondence of this 
period, that the author did not escape without making enemies by his 
book. 

It is pleasant to know, however, that these enmities were not long- 
lived, and that some of the most intimate friends and associates of 
Mr. Wirt's subsequent days were those with whom he was supposed 
to have too freely dealt in the letters. 

The asperities which arose out of this publication did not check the 
author in the career of his humour, nor disturb his equanimity. Nor 
did they disable him from his defence, as may be seen from the 
perusal of the volume. 

Extensive as was the popularity of this small work at the time of 
its first appearance, it is but little read at the present day. Forty 
years bring a severe test to the quality of any book. They are 
generally fatal to the million of light literature. There was a time 
when few libraries in this country were unsupplied with a copy of the 
British Spy. It is not so now. The overteeming press pours forth 
its stream with such torrent-like rapidity and fulness, that the current 
has well-nigh swept away the light craft of the last generation — even 
such as were supposed to be most securely moored. We must look 
for them now only in those nooks and occasional havens where the 
fortunate eddy has given them shelter against the pressure of the 
flood. The British Spy is still worthy to be refitted and thrown oncce 
more upon the wave. 

The two following letters to Can* furnish some pleasant anecdotes 
connected with the production of this little book. In the second of 
the two, the reader will mark some new aspirations towards literary 
. enterprise, agreeably mixed up with some details of professional occu- 
pation, and with a grave dissertation upon a subject of growing im- 
portance in the mind of the writer. 



108 LETTER TO CARR. [1803—1804. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Norfolk, January 16, 1804. 
My Dear Aminadab : 

Yours, of the 31st ult., reached me by the last mail. I am 
rejoiced that this silence is at last broken. I was several times on 
the point of breaking it myself, although, as you acknowledge, you 
were a letter in my debt; but some perverse circumstance always 
thwarted the intention. Indeed, like Martha, I have been busy 
about many things ; though I hope that, like Mary, I have chosen 
the better part. 

This is Sunday, so you must allow me to be a little scriptural. 
But waving with you the why and the wherefore, I rejoice at this 
resurrection of our correspondence, and I trust that no wintry circum- 
stance will ever again occur to suspend its pulse of life even for a 
moment. Mark, sir, how metaphorical I am ! But, in plain and 
sober earnest, I look to you as one of those few well-tried and dearly- 
beloved friends who will often relax my " brow of care," and checker, 
with soft and genial light, i\iQ dusky path of life. I look forward, 
with a kiud of plaintive pleasure, to the period when, after my bones 
are in the grave, my children, in turning over my old letters, will 
meet with yours and my dear Peachy 's,* 'and, with eyes swimming 
with tears, hang over your warm and affecting expressions of love and 
I'riendship. It is this that touches my heart ; it is this pathetic pros- 
pect, connected with the present enjo3-ment of your intercourse, that 
fortifies me against the chances of the world, and new strings my 
system for the labours of my profession. But for the domestic joys 
which encircle me, and the coa\ietion that I have a few valuable 
friends by whom I am known and beloved, I should be the poorest 
wretch for business that ever groaned upon the earth. How can men 
toil as I see them doing here ; business in their heads, business in 
their hearts, business forever in their faces, without one palpitation 
to tell them what love and friendship mean ? Not, my dearest sir, 
that I would turn my back on any business, however herculean, but 
I must unbend and refresh whenever the voice of pure affection calls 
inc. Often, my dear Dabney, may yours call me ! You will find my 
heart ever ready to echo you. — But to answer you, in order. 

I come, in order, to a certain author y'clept the British Spy. I 
shall not be either so unfriendly or so childishly affected as to deny 
the brat to be my own. To the world, however, I do not choose to 
make any such pipclamation, for divers obvious reasons. Indeed, I 
gain nothing by this silence. The thing is as generally and confi- 
(lently imputed to me, as if my name were in the title-page. For 

* Mr. Peacliy Gilmer, an elder brother of Francis Walker. 



Chap. IX.] ANECDOTES OF THE SPY. 109 

ycm are to understand that, very far beyond my expectations, the 
printer has found it his interest, not only to bind it up in a pamphlet, 
but to issue a second edition. It is meet that I give you some 
account of the rise and progress of this aflfair. 

I was in Kichmond, attending on a business with whose painful 
anxieties experience has made you acquainted. It was to divert my 
own mind, during this period of uneasiness and alarm, that I began 
to write. But after the project was thus started, I will acknowledge 
to you, my friend, that there were secondary considerations which 
supported aud warmed me throughout the enterprise. I was gratified 
by the encomiums which were generally pronounced on the composi- 
tion, and I was still more delicately gratified in obsernng the pleasure 
with which my wife heard those encomiums. I was flattered by the 
circumstance that, while the world applauded, it concurred in imputing 
the production to me ; and this without any other evidence than that 
of the work itself. For the imputation proved, at least, that the world 
had not a disadvantageous opinion of my understanding. I adopted 
the character of a British Spy, because I thought that such a title, in 
a republican paper, would excite more attention, ciu'iosity, and inte- 
rest than any other : and having adojjted that character, as an author 
I was bound to support it. I endeavoured to forget myself; to fancy 
myself the character which I had assumed; to imagine how, as a 
Briton, I should be struck with Richmond, its landscapes, its public 
characters, its manners, together with the political sentiments and 
moral complexion of the Virginians generally. I succeeded so well 
that in several parts of the country, particularly in Grloucester, and 
in the neighbourhood of Norfolk, the people went so far as to declare 
that they had seen the very foreigner, (and a Briton he was, too,) 
v/ho had written the letters. The editor of a paper in Massachusetts, 
by whom the letters were republished, declared his opinion that the 
author was an American who had received his education in Great 
Britain, and had now returned to his native countrj'. Otherwise he 
could not account fur the union of British prejudice with the intimate 
knowledge of this country, which was manifested in the work. You 
may be sure that I was not a little tickled vnth these sagacious guesses. 
Unfortunately, however, in my zeal to siq^port my adopted character, 
I forgot myself too for in some of the letters. Hence the strictures 
on the entertainers of Dunmore's son; hence the portraits of living 
characters, which I drew with a mind as perfectly absorbed in the 
contemplation of the originals, and as forgcttive of personal couse- 
ciuences "as if I had really belonged to another planet;" and, upon 
my honour, with as little ill-will towards either of the gentlemen. It 

was not until it appeared in print tliat the letter portraying E, 

and W startled me. Then the indiscretion stared me full in 

the face; but " the die was cast," — and, to make the worst of it, 1 
had merely published imprudent truths. But I had made enemies of 

Vol. L — 10 



110 ANECDOTES. [1803—1804. 

the gentlemen themselves, mth all their connexions and depcnclencies. 

To W I have made some atonement in the last edition, because 

of the magnanimity with which he viewed the publication ; but to 

H I have not offered, and I never will offer, an expiation. He 

had the vanity to declare that the whole work, although it embraced 
such a variety of topics, had one sole design, and that was to degrade 
him ; was weak enough to mention, in one of his arguments before 
Mr. Wythe, " the scrutinizing eye of the British Spy," and to express 
to his brethren his wish that the British Spy was practising at that 
bar. This has been told me on unquestionable authority. In his 
last wish he has been in a measure gratified. He was called to the ' 
bar of the Suffolk District Court in an important case in which I op- 
posed him. The question was a legal one, and the argument, of 
course, addressed to the court. He had the conclusion, and, as Tyler 
and Prentis were the judges, I was a little uneasy lest the weight of 

R 's name, added to the authoritative manner of his speaking, 

should have an undue effect on their honours; for this reason I 
thought myself authorised to express this apprehension, which I did 
with the highest compliments to his eloquence. I went farther, and 
anticipated, as well as I could, not only the matter but the very man- 
ner of the replies which I supposed he would make to my argument. 
I am told that all this was most strikingly in the spirit, style, and 
manner of the British Spy. I had, however, no intention to wound 
his feelings, ■ but merely to do justice to my cause, and give it fan- 
play before the court. 

Apprehending, from the faces of the company, as well as from the 

mortified looks of R , that I had gone beyond my purpose, and 

said more than the occasion justified, I spoke to him, and stated very 
sincerely the purpose of my remarks. He professed to be satisfied ; 
but he "was disconcerted and wounded, past all power of forgiving. 
He was so confounded, that in his argument he manifested nothing 
of the orator, nor even of himself, but the person and voice. His 
arguments were the very weakest his cause furnished ; his order (to 
use an Irishism) was all confusion, and he is said to have made the 
very worst speech that he ever did make. In short, he disappointed 
every body, and lost a cause which he had declared himself, all over 
the country, sure to gain. If he had never been my enemy before, 
that one adventure would have made him so. He is, I suppose, im- 
placable ; but, as my heart acquits me of any premeditated injury, 
and as I fear him not, I am very little disturbed at his displeasure. 

Mr. W is not only reconciled, but, to all appearance, even partial 

to me, since he has been lately instrumental in promoting my profes- 
sional benefit. IMarshall, too, has given me a fee in a Chancery case. 
Perhaps they are pleased in running parallels between themselves and 
some great Roman, as Julius Ctesar, who, being severely libelled by 
Catullus, invited his libeller to supper and treated him so courteously, 






Chap. IX.] A CRITICISM. Ill 

that lie was ever after Lis friend. Be it so. I am sure that I am 
no libeller iu intention ; and, if I am not blinded by partiality, the 
portraits in question are marked with candour and benevolence. With 
regard to the justifiability of the thing, I am not yet convinced that 
established lawyers are not ^jroper game for the press, so far as con- 
cerns their talents; nor am I clear that the procedure was wrong on 
the ground of public utility. That it was indiscreet, I am willing to 
admit, and I heartily wish I had let them alone. Yet I am very 
sure that a great part of the public interest excited by the Spy, is 
imputable to those portraits of prominent characters. For my own 
part, I declare sincerely, that when I shall have reached that age iu 
which I may be supposed to have touched the zenith of my mind, I 
should be so far from being displeased, that I should be gratified in 
seeing my intellectual portrait set in a popular work. 

It was alleged, by a writer iu the Examiner, under the signature 
of Cato, that, " in a professional point of view, the Spy was ungener- 
ous, because it was an attempt in the author to degrade the talents of 
competitors whom he ought to have met only on equal terms." 

Now, the fact is, that they are no competitors of mine. I do not 
practise in the same court with any of them, and whether they are 
deified or damned, my revenue will be the same. How, then, is my 
interest involved in the affair ; even if I were capable of being in- 
fluenced, in such a case, by so sordid a principle ? 

I cannot help being surprised at what you tell me relative to the 
opinion of my political apostasy. I am not, indeed, surprised that 

such an opinion should exist; for, after the dereliction of B , 

almost any suspicions of this nature, about any body, are pardonable 
But what I am surprised at is, that any man, however ''young," who 
deserves to be " highly esteemed for intellect," should believe the 
British Spy to contain evidence of my apostasy. 

For the purpose of personal concealment, as well as for the pur- 
pose of keeping alive the public curiosity, it was my business to main- 
tain the character which I had assumed, and therefore the sentiments 
of the Spy are those of a Briton. Would it not have been absurd 
to clothe a Briton with the opinions and feelings of a Virginian and a 
Ptcpublican ? 

I am glad that you, yourself, have viewed this subject in a proper 
liglit. No, my dear Dabney, I am not changed. If I were basely 
disposed to apostatise, I should at least have more cunning than to 
choose this time for it, when the refulgence of the administration has 
struck its enemies blind and dumb. Those who suppose me an apos- 
tate, pay as poor a compliment to my understanding, as they do to 
the rectitude of my heart. But I am not angry with them for it; 
smce, from what America has exhibited in some of her leading 



112 A CRITICISM. [1803—1804. 

characters, each man in the community has a right to exclaim with 
Cato, "the world has grown so wicked, that I am surprised at 
nothing. '' 

Your remarks on the Spy, as a writer, are, I think, rather the sen- 
timents of a friend, than the opinions of a critic. Let me give you 
my opinion of those letters. Putting aside the traits by which the 
author sustains his dramatic character, his sentiments are generally 
just, and sometimes display the man of feeling. But his disquisitions 
are too desultory, and the topics too lightly touched to contain much 
of the useful. The letters bespeak a mind rather frolicksome and 
sprightly, than thoughtful and penetrating; and therefore a mind 
qualified to amuse, for the moment, but not to benefit either its pro- 
prietor, or the world, by the depth and utility of its researches. The 
style, although sometimes happy, is sometimes, also, careless and 
poor; and, still more frequently, overloaded with epithets; and its 
inequality proves either that the author wanted time or industry or 
taste to give it, throughout, a more even tenor. Yet these letters are 
certainly superior to the trash with which we are so frequently gorged 
through the medium of the press. 

Such is the character which, if I were a critical reviewer, and were 
reviewing this work, I should certainly give of it ; and yet, I cannot 
but confess that if a critic of reputation were to draw such a character, 
I should be as much mortified as if it were unjust. Strange, incon- 
sistent creature is man ! But enough of the Spy, — except that I 
will tell you I was very near di'awing the character of " the Honour- 
able Thomas" in it. I had the outlines fixed in my mind, but I 
found, on the experiment, that in finishing up the portrait, I should 
be obliged, either to sacrifice the unity of my assumed character, or 
to dilute some of the colours in the most unpardonable manner. I 
had another consideration. He was the President, with a consider- 
able train of patronage ; and, by the time which I had fixed for the 
insertion of his portrait, I had begun to be suspected as the author 
of the Spy. I knew, therefore, that political malignity and meanness 
would ascribe the sketch to motives which I disdain. On all which 
accounts, citizen Thomas has escaped being butchered by my partiality 
for him. 

You ai-e beginning, by this time, to accuse me of egotism ; but, be- 
tween friends, there is no such thing ; for, friends are one and indi- 
visible. Besides, I have said nothing more than what I thought 
necessary to vindicate miysclf against aspersions which you have, no 
doubt, read, and which, perhaps, form a part of that torrent of 
abuse which has been, and still is, pouring out against me. 

:): * ^: * * * * 

Little did I dream of such serious consequences from what, to me, 
Bcenicd an innocent sport ; much less did I dream that those trifles 
■ffould have survived the newspaper ephemeras of the day ; and least 



Ch-AF. IX.: LETTER TO CARR. 113 

of ull, that they would have been perpetuated and extended by a 
second edition of the pamphlet. tempora ! 

* * -X- * * * 

Excuse my brevity, and believe me 

Your friend, 

Wm. AViiiT. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

NoKFOLK, June 8, 1804. 
****** 
You will acquit me of the poor vanity of boasting of the pressure 
of business. In the Borough of Noi'folk every drone feels the pres- 
sure of business. This pressure often, too, depends less on the quan- 
tum of business than on the strength and dexterity of the agent. If 
I had given more of my time to the books and practice of my profes- 
sion, I should have less investigation and toil to undergo now; but I 
used te think it enough to have a tolerable understanding of that kind 
of business which usually occurred in the middle country. I had 
not the noble and generous emulation which should have incited me 
to master the science of law in all its departments. The consequence 
is, that being transplanted to the shores of the Atlantic, where the 
questions grow almost entirely out of commerce, I have fallen into 
a business totally new to me, and every case calls for elaborate exami- 
nation. But I deserve the addition of this labour, and willingly do 
penance for my past idleness. The principal inconvenience resulting 
from it is, that I have no time left for reading; and now, most per- 
versely, becaiise it is impracticable, I am stung with a restless passion 
for the acquirement of science. In this dilemma I have no refuge or 
consolation, except in very distant prospect. I look on, perhaps with 
fond delusion, to the time when I shall be able to retreat from the 
toil of business ; when, in the bosom of my own family, I shall find 
the joys of ease, independence, and domestic bliss — become a very 
epicure in literary luxuries, and perhaps raise some monument to my 
name, to which my posterity, at least, may look with pleasure. I 
grant it, sir — it is extremely visionary — it most probably never will 
eomc to pass — but possibly it may, and the possibility, remote as it 
is, reflects a cheering ray to gild the darkness of the pr.'sent moment. 
Not, indeed, that the present moment is as dark as Egypt once was. 
It is true, that I have yet to struggle into notice ; I have yet a for- 
tune to make, a family to provide for — a family who, if my life were 
terminated in an}' short time, would be thrown on the charity of the 
world. It is this reflection that wraps my soul in gloom, and the 
horror is deepened, when I consider ihe climate of Norfolk, and 
remember that I am yet a stranger to it. To think of this, and theu 

10* " 



114 . RELIGIOUS REFLECTIONS. 11803— J804. 

to look upon my wife and child! — But "Away with melancholy" — 
for 

"There's a sweet little cherub sits smiling aloft, 
To keep watch for the life of poor '' 

me. Allans ! 

You have made, sir, in your letter of the 29th of February, a rhap- 
sody on life, and love, and friendship, which is exquisitely beautiful 
and just. How grateful are such effusions ! how grateful to my mind 
and to my heart ! They make me proud of your friendship. My 
dear C, it is at such moments that my soul flies out to meet yours, 
and as they commingle, I feel myself exalted and refined. Can mere 
matter be excited to ecstacies so pure and celestial as these ? Or is 
there not, indeed, "a divinity that stirs within us?" I hope, I wish, 
I cheerfully believe that I have a soul, for then I think myself more 
worthy of your friendship. I should feel humiliated and mortified, if 
I could imagine the friendship, the warm, the generous emotions of a 
heart and mind like yours, lavished on a perishable mass of matter ; 
and I would not, if I could help it, be in any thing unworthy of your 
friendship. 

Now, do not puzzle yourself and me too, on this subject of the soul, 
by a subtle disquisition concerning the highest point of perfectibility 
to which matter may be organized ; by weighing and balancing the 
probabilities of different opinions, as we were wont to do, in the scales 
of human reason. I am persuaded that there is a range of subjects 
above the reach of human reason ; subjects on which reason cannot 
decide, because " it cannot command a view of the whole ground." 
Could the tick, which invades and buries itself in my foot, conceive or 
describe the anatomy of my frame ? Could the man who has passed 
every moment of his life at the foot of the Andes, paint the prospect 
which is to be seen from the summit ? No more, in my opinion, can 
leason discuss the being of a God, or the reality of that miracle, the 
Christian faith. If you ask me why I believe in the one or the other, 
I can refer you to no evidence which you can examine, because I must 
refer you to mrj own feelings. I cannot, for instance, look abroad on 
the landscape of spring, wander among blooming orchards and gardens, 
and respire the fragrance which they exhale, without feeling the exist- 
ence of a God : my heart involuntarily dilates itself, and, before I am 
aware of it, gratitude and adoration burst from my lips. If you ask 
me why these objects have never produced this effect before, I answer 
tliat I cannot tell you. Perhaps my nature has grown more suscepti- 
ble ; perhaps I have learned to rely less on the arbitrations of human 
reason ; perhaps I have gotten over the vanity of displaying the ele- 
vation and perspicacity of intellect on Avhich the youthful deist is apt 
to plume himself. 'Whatever may be the cause, I thank it for lead- 
uig me from the dreary and sterile waste of infidelity. I am happy 
m my present impressions, and had rather sit alone in Arabia Felix, 



Chap. IX.] THE BRITISH SPY. 115 

than wander over the barren sands of the desert, in company with 
Bolino-broke and Voltaire. 

Reason, my dear friend, in its proper sphere, is the best, and ought 
to be the only guide of our actions ; but let it keep within its proper 
sphere, and confine its operations to its proper subjects. I admire its 
powers, I admire its beauties. I also admire the powers of the che- 
mist, and the beauty of his science : yet, notwithstanding the astonish- 
ing developement which the chemist makes of the secrets of nature, 
however his experiments may break up long-established principles,! 
decompose bodies which for centuries have been deemed simple pri-l 
mitive elements, and prove them to be combinations; re-decompose 
the ingredients of that combination, and detect them, in their turn, to 
be compositions ; in short, however far the chemist may push his dis- 
coveries, his labours must still be confined to matter ; he cannot ana- 
lyze thought. But thought is not more different from or more superior 
to matter, than God is to that class of subjects which constitute the 
theatre of reason. Reason is not, therefore, the proper channel of 
conviction, in matters so far above its reach. That conviction can bo 
given, in my opinion, only through the channel of sensibility : this is 
another name for what Soame Jennyngs calls the internal evidence of 
the Christian faith, and what is generally well understood by the in- 
trinsic evidence of revealed religion. 

But enough of a subject on which I should not be at all astonished 
if, already, you think and pronounce me mad. Whetfyou are as old 
as I a?)i, you may thus grow mad in your turn ; for, be it remembered, 
that when I was as young as you are, I was as wise as you are, on 
this subject. 

Do not suspect, however, that I am a downright bedlamite, nor 
even an enthusiast. My sentiments, on this subject, are calm and 
temperate ; they fill me with no horrors for the past, nor agonizing- 
terrors for the future. I cherish them because they are a source of 
pure enjoyment to me, because they render me more happy in every 
relation of life, and more respectable in my own eyes; nor would 
they even have led me to annoy you with this declaration of them, 
if you had not demanded an explanation of some passages in the Spy. 

As to the Spy, let me tell you that your favourable opinion of it 
gratifies me very highly, for I know your judgment and your can- 
dour; but let me, also, tell you, that after you had listened to the 
voice of your friendship, and gratified me, too, with the sound of it, I 
looked that you should have put off everything like partiality, assumed 
the rigid critic and censor of the world, and have told me the faults 
of those compositions. I know that some speculative moralists have 
said and written that a man cannot bear to hear his faults told, even 
by his friend. It is said, too, that authors are particularly ticklish 
about the offspring of their brain. This may be true : but I am sure 
that I could hear my faults from you, and mend upon it. Some of 



116 THE BRITISH SPY. [1S03— 1804. 

the faults of the Spy I know and was conscious of when they wero 
sent to the press ; such as the redundance of words, and the compa- 
ratively small bulk of the matter. Next to the exuberance of ver- 
biage and the want of matter, is the levity, desultorincss, and some- 
times commonness of the thoughts which are expressed. Upon the 
whole, the work is too tumid and too light; yet these, perhaps, are 
the very properties which gave it the degree of admiration which it 
excited ; for the essay on the liberty of the press, the work of Hor- 
tensius, which came out at the same time in the same paper, had not, 
as far as I have learned, one half of its popularity. 

I have a notion, enlre nous, of making another experiment of the 
public taste, this summer ; for I shall be driven from this place, for 
a summer or two, by the yellow fever, and I had better be doing any- 
thing than to be idle. I shall sometimes get tired of reading, and 
composition will then diversify my employments very agreeably. 
What say you ? My friend Tazewell, here, does not approve of such 
engagements. He says that it gives a man a light and idle appearance, 
in the eye of the world, and might, therefore, injure me in my pro- 
fession. If you concur in this opinion, I shall renounce the project ; 
otherwise, I shall incline to make another exhibition, — but of what 
nature I have not yet determined. Certainly I shall write no more 
Spies; "too much pudding," &c. 

I have been reading Johnson's Lives of poets and famous men till 
I have contracted an itch for biography ; do not be astonished, there- 
fore, if you see me come out with a very material and splendid life 
of some departed Virginian worthy, — for I meddle no more with the 
living. Virginia has lost some great men, whose names ought not 
to perish. If I were a Plutarch, I would collect their lives for the 
honour of the State and the advantage of posterity. 

George Tucker, of Richmond, wrote the Enquirer.* I concur with 
you in the opinion that he has the advantage of the Spy. He had a 
more intimate acquaintance with the subject ; his style is more chaste 
and equal, and his compositions have much more of the philosopher 
and author. 

Let me tell you that the Spy never read a page in BufFon in his 
life, nor knew any more of his theory than what he one day heard 
Charles Meriwether mention, in a very short conversation. Of the 
,\bbe Raynal's West Indies, he once read a few pages, as he rode 
from Albemarle to Orange court. Tliis was all the acquired informa- 
tion that he had on the subject, — so that the match was very unequal. 

The speculation in the second letter was a mere crude adventure, 
leading to some singular and whimsical consequences, and it was 

• Some articles, under this signature, were published in the papers, at 
Richmond, during the publication of the Spy. They were designed to con- 
trovert some of the geological arguments presented in that work. 



Chap. X.J SUCCESS AT NORFOLK. 117 

tliought likely, therefore, to please by its novelty ; but the calculation 
was a false one, — for, unphilosophical as it was, it was too philoso- 
phical for newspaper-readers. It was, therefore, no favourite, and 
rather sunk the character of the Spy than raised it. 

* * -x- * -X- ^ 

The Spy did write, as you M^ere informed, the pieces signed IMar- 
tinus Scriblerus; they were partly in imitation of Pope and Co.'s 
criticisms imputed to their hero of the same name. The originals, 
of which you say you would demand the sight, were sent to the press ; 
nor is there any vestige of them, either printed or written, in possession 
of the Spy. 'Tis no matter : they answered their purpose of amusing 
for the moment, and now let them rest in peace. 

•J5- -X- * -x- * * 

I hear very often, that you are growing fast in your profession. 
How would it glad my heart to live till you touch the acme of forensic 
glory, to touch it with you too, and, as Peachy would add, hang with 
you there, like two thieves under a gallows. How is that vagabond 
P. coming forward ? Does he erect his chest in the front bar ? Does 
he spout and thunder like the cataract of Niagara, or does he roar 
them, ''an it were any sucking dove ?" If he does not do all these 
things by turns, I disinherit and anathematise him from the crown of 
his head to the sole of his foot. I owe the rascal a letter or two, and 
I will pay him shortly, making up in quantity what I want in num- 
ber and quality. In the mean time, give my love to him. 

Heaven bless and preserve you ! 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 



CHAPTER X. 

1804—5. 

SUCCESS AT NORFOLK. PROJECT OF A BIOGRAPHICAL WORK. — ■ 

PATRICK HENRY. ST. GEORGE TUCKER. LETTER TO THIS GEN- 
TLEMAN. THE RAINBOW. LETTER TO EDWARDS. 

From the date of his establishment in Norfolk, in the winter of 
1803—4, we may compute Wirt's rapid advance to eminence in his 
profession. He was here brought into a new sphere of legal study. 
The commercial and maritime law, to which he was in a great degree 
a stranger, now became the familiar subjects of his attention. As we 



118 PRACTICE AT THE BAR. [1804—5. 

have seen in the letters written at this period, he was totally unused 
to the topics, manners, wants and concerns which predominate in tho 
society, and especially in the business circles, of an active trading sea- 
port. To master the fii-st difficulties of such a position, and to win 
the reputation which his ambition coveted, exacted from him great 
labour and study. He Lad friends around him to cheer his hopes and 
stimulate his elForts to the task ; but these friends were also the com- 
petitors of his forensic struggles, men of established renown, and justly 
reputed for brilliant talents as well as professional accomplishment; 
and it may be regarded as no doubtful praise of the new associate in 
this fraternity, to say that he speedily earned and sustained, in the 
public estimation, a fair and acknowledged title to a place on the 
same platform which they occupied. 

Whatever may be said to the disadvantage of the law as a profes- 
sion ; notwithstanding all that is truly and untruly imputed to it, in 
the way of derogation, by popular satire and by vulgar jest, it is cha- 
racterized by one condition, in which it has the advantage of nearly 
all other business pursuits ; that eminence in it is always a test of 
talent and acquirement. Whilst, in other professions, quackery and 
imposition may often succeed to elevate the professor in popular es- 
teem, the lawyer gains no foothold at the bar, nor with the public, 
which he has not fairly won. A grave and austere bench is a perilous 
foe to the make-believe trickery of an unprepared or ignorant advocate ; 
the surrounding bar, too, is not to be put off with sham seemings, 
contrived as a substitute for skill. The ffi'st is characteristically noted 
for its impatience under the inflictions of those who bring less learning 
than pretension to their task ; and the last is quite as much signalized 
for the comic relish with which it hunts such game into its coverts. 
Forensic life is, in great part, life in the noonday, in presence of sharp- 
sighted observers and not the most indulgent of critics. It has always 
two sides, whereof one is a ssntinel upon the other; and a blunder, a 
slip, or a slovenly neglect of the matter in hand, never escapes with- 
out its proper comment. Dulness is sure to be stamped or patented 
with such sufficient publication, as to go ever unquestioned upon its 
settled and intrinsic demerit. The line between good fellowship and 
professional standing is so broadly drawn, that one never interferes 
with the other. The best social quality in the world affords no help 



CiiAP. X.] PROJECTED WORK. 119 

to the lack of skill before court or jury. Each stands on its own 
foundation, detached and independent; so that a man may be the 
worst pleader and advocate, and the most beloved of social friends at 
the bar, winning all private esteem, but finding no cover or conceal- 
ment for his professional raggedness. The public opinion of the 
merits of a lawyer, is but the winnowed and sifted judgment which 
reaches the world through the bar, and is, therefore, made up after 
severe ordeal and upon standard proof. 

The success of the British Spy, which had now reached perhaps a 
third or fourth edition, and the reputation which it brought the author, 
were too flattering to allow him to abandon the path of literature, even 
under all'the provocations to do so which the engrossment of his pro- 
fession supplied. No man ever wrote a successful book without con- 
templating another. The frequent echo of one's name as a popular 
author, and the agreeable fillip to personal vanity which is given by 
the notice of the press, magnifying into matter of public importance 
the conceits of one's brain and rendering his thoughts a commodity in 
the market — these things are not unrelished or forgotten by the mo- 
dest craft, — but straightway set the wits again at work to redouble 
the echo and its accompaniments. In the letters of the Spy, the 
sketches of personal character connected with the notice of distin- 
guished living persons, had formed one of the most popular attractions 
of the book, and the author was said to have been very happy in these 
delineations. Whilst many admired the portraits, others, as we have 
seen, were offended by them ; and in the collision of opinion between 
these two classes of readers, it was very evident that the popularity 
of the book was much promoted. His success in these sketches, most 
probably, turned his thoughts towards a plan which he now meditated 
of writing the history of the eminent men of Virginia. IMauy of 
those, most distinguished amongst the soldiers and civilians of the 
Revolution, were as yet unchronicled upon any page adapted to pre- 
serve the distinct record of their deeds. The time seemed to bo 
favom-able to the performance of this duty. To say nothing of Wash- 
ington, — whose history, as more properly belonging to the nation, 
was perhaps not included in this scheme, — Patrick Henry, Edmund 
Pendleton, Richard Henry Lee, and many others, whose names have 
shed lustre upon the State, were, at this date, numbered with the 



120 " LIFE OF PATRICK HENRV. [1804—1805.. 

dead ; but the incidents of their lives were fresh in the public memory, , 
and capable of being authenticated by sure testimony. An equitable 
public judgment, undisturbed by the prejudices which surround living 
men, might be expected to await the perusal of their biographies and i 
to do justice to their fame. N.eithcr too soon for this judgment, nor • 
too late to collect the veritable materials for the work, this was the s 
proper time to essay the task of a faithful portraiture. It belonged! 
to this generation ; and Wirt supposed he might assume the perform- ■ 
ance of this duty, with some certainty of its favourable acceptance by 
the public, as the offering of one who had already established his title 
to their good opinion by what he had written. It would have been i 
both a grateful and a graceful tribute from an adopted son of the 
State, who had been honoured by so many proofs of the cordial esteem 
and substantial friendship of the community in which he lived. 

In the partial accomplishment of his purpose he directed his first 
attention to Patrick Henry. It is to this endeavour we owe the pub- 
lication of the biography which we shall hereafter have occasion to 
notice. The fulfilment of the entire original design was interrupted! 
by the engagements of professional life, and the biography of Henry 
is, consequently, all that was achieved of a scheme which embraced ai 
wide field of various and useful research. 

Amongst the most cherished of Wirt's associates, at this time, wag< 
St. George Tucker, then the President Judge of the Court of Appeals i 
of Virginia. This gentleman, whose fame is most honourably asso-- 
ciated witk the national jurisprudence, had held the post of Professor r 
of Law, at William and Mary, where Wirt, during his residence att 
Williamsburg, with other members of the bar, was an occasional! 
attendant upon his lectures. The Judge was distinguished for his 
scholastic acquirements, his taste and wit, and was greatly endeared 'I 
to the society of his friends by a warm-hearted, impulsive natm-e, , 
which gave a peculiar strength to his attachments. Though some ten 
years the senior of Wirt, the intercourse between them was that of 
the most familiar friendship, and was enlivened by a frequent inter- 
change of those sallies of humour and good fellowship which belong 
to the intimacies .of men of equal age and kindred tastes.* 

■ *Tl)e Judge was a native of Bermuda. Having emigrated to Virginia in 
his youtli, lie completed his education at William and Mary College. He 



Chap. X.] LETTER TO JUDGE TUCKER. 121 

The following letter illustrates this intimacy, whilst it touches- 
upon the subject of the contemplated biographies. The allusion to 
'' The Rainbow" requires an explanation. 

In the year 1804, Wirt had associated with a few friends in a 
scheme to publish a series of familiar didactic essays, under the title 
of The Rainbow. This scheme was no farther carried into effect than 
the publication of ten numbers in the Richmond Enquirer, between 
August and October of that year, when it was abandoned These 
essays were subsequently collected into a thin octavo, and, in that 
guise, seem to have fallen into oblivion. So far as Wirt participated 
in them, they appear to have been rather the practisings of an artist 
pursuing his studies, than a work he would choose to acknowledge as 
the product of his mature labour. 

TO JUDGE TUCKER. 

Norfolk, January 31, 1805. 
Dear Sir : 

I have never, until now, had it in my power to acknowledge your 
favour of the 23d instant. It is full to the purpose of my request, 
and I thank you for it most sincerely and cordially. 

As you seem to think there are reasons why it should not be 
shown, I promise you that it shall not ; yet you <' kiss the rod" with 
so much humility and devotion, that I cannot think their high mighti- 
nesses themselves would be otherwise than gratified by its perusal. 

I am somewhat relieved by your inquiry, whether I received the 
letter and packet by Mrs. Bannister ; for, be it known to you, in two 
or three days after I did receive that communication, I had read all 
the pamphlets but one ; and while my mind was yet warm with the 
gratification which I had derived from them, I sat down and wrote 
you a very long letter, and a very free one, — so very free, that from 
my hearing no more from you, in reply to one or two little requests 
which it contained, I was afraid that I might have been too uncere- 
monious with you. I was hesitating whether I should not sit down 
and deprecate your wrath; but as offences proceed only from the 
heart, and as none, I was very sure, had proceeded from mine, I 

entered the Judiciary of tlie State as a Judge of the General Court, and was 
promoted to the Court of Appeals, of which he became the President. Re- 
signing this post -n 1811, he was soon afterwards brought into the Federal 
Judiciary, as a Judge of the United States District Court in Eastern Vir 
ginia, whicli appointment he held until his death. 

Vol. L — 11 



122 MATERIALS FOR A LIFE OF HENRY. [1804— 1S05. 

thought it syllogistically demonstrable that no oiFence had been given. 
And yet that you should not, in so long a time, say one syllable in 
reply to a proposition connected with literature, was so irreconcilable 
with your politeness, your goodness, and your passion for letters, that 
I herein to suspect I had satisfied myself with a sophism instead of a 
demonstration on the subject of offences; and, though my syllogism 
might prove that no offence had been given, yet it did not prove that 
none had been taken; and so "note the difference," — for what is 
taken, is not always given, or else Hounslow heath and the Louvre 
would be less distinguished than they are. Yet, taking offence is so 
different a thing from taking a purse, or a Venus de Medicis, the 
prize and the gratification so infinitely inferior, that I cannot believe 
there is much illustration, conviction or wit in the parallel, and so — 
adieu to it. 

But to my letter. It contained a very grateful and sincere ac- 
knowledgment for your interesting present by Mrs. B ; a decla- 
ration of the pleasure and information which I had derived from the 
perusal of the pamphlets, particxdarly that in relation to Louisiana, 
an expression of my surprise that tlae public should discover such a 
gusto for the froth, and frippery, and harlotry of some compositions, 
while they neglected the clear and masculine views which you inva- 
riably give of your subjects. 

****** 5): 

My letter proceeded to condemn the modesty with which you had 
spoken of Williamsburg, in one of your letters to that sinner IMorse, 
and insisted that much more might have been said, and truly said, of 
the natural and adventitious beauties of the scene, the science, ele- 
gance, harmony and affection of the society. It went on to cono-ra- 
tulate you and Judge Nelson, (and there was a spice of envy in tho 
congratulation,) on the Arcadian times which you were enjoying, and 
to express my suspicion that, between tAvo such ardent and impor- 
tunate wooers, their ladyships, the muses, had very little time for 
sleep. 

It referred to an anecdote which I heard Judge Nelson tell of 
Patrick Henry's fondness for Livy, and begged the favour of you to 
prevail for me, with his honour, to give me that anecdote circumslan- 
iialhj and critically. 

It begged another favour of you ; and that was, as you had fre- 
quently heard P. H., I had no doubt, in conversation and debate, 
judicial and ])olitical, to do me the kindness, at some moment of per- 
fect ease and leisure, to sketch, as minutely as you could, even to tlie 
colour of his eyes, a portrait of his person, attitudes, gestures, man- 
ners; a dcscripti(jn of his voice, its tone, energy, and modulations; 
Ills delivery, whether slow, grave and solenni, or rapid, sprightly and 
animated; his pronunciation, whether studiously plain, homely, and 
sometimes vulgar, or accurate, courtly and ornate, — with an analysis 



Chap. X.] BIOGRAPHICAL WRITING. 123 

of nis mind; the variety, order and predominance of its powers ; liis 
information as a lawyer, a politician, a scholar ; the peculiar charac- 
ter of his eloquence, &c., &c. ; for I never saw him. These miuutire, 
which constitute the most interesting part of biography, are not to be 
learnt from any archives or records, or any other source than the 
minute and accurate details of a very uncommon observer. 

In the same letter, I took the liberty of attejiipting to revive and 
enforce your half-dormant resolution of furnishing an essay for " The 
Kainbow," on the subject of Biography ; and of combating your idea 
of declining that essay because I had turned my thoughts towards 
biography. For, if the objects of your essay would be to show the 
importance and utility of biographical publications, and to point out 
the duties of the biographer, it would be so far from hostile that it 
would be auxiliary to my scheme ; as it would give the public a pre- 
paratory relish for that kind of writing, and instruct me how to serve 
up the feast to the best advantage. If, instead of being didactic, the 
essay was intended to be, itself, a biographical sketch, yet the limits 
prescribed for an essay would merely enable you to excite, without 
sating the public curiosity, and would therefore be a good prepara- 
tion for a more expanded narrative. If, again, you proposed to pur- 
sue this subject through a series of essays, so as to constitute, in the 
whole, the expanded narrative of which I speak, then the great ob- 
jects at which I aimed (those of preserving the memory of our illus- 
trious men, and of perpetuating to Virginia the honour of having 
given them birth,) would be completely gained by those essays. I 
wish, indeed, that you would take this task off of my hands. I fear 
much that it will be out of my power to perform it. I find so much 
writing to do in my professsion, so much interruption from clients who 
ask counsel that sometimes forces me on a close and unremitting in- 
vestigation for several days, so much preparation for argument, &c., 
&c., that I have scarcely time to exchange a word with my family day 
or nio-ht. 

It must, at all events, be a considerable time before I could accom- 
plish the work as I would ; whereas you have all the long intervals 
between the sessions at your command ; could do the business at your 
ease; could make an amusement of it to yourself; and from your per- 
sonal acquaintance with the heroes of the work, as well as from other 
causes which are too obvious to particularize, could render it infinitely 
more valuable and interesting to the public, than all the leisure in the 
world would enable me to do. 

I wish you would think seriously of this proposal. I am trying to 
collect materials for this work, .which I will most gladly communicate 
when I receive them. Nay, more ; if you think proper, your name 
shall be kept out of the public view, and they may name me, without 
contradiction, as the author (for there are too many persons who have, 
by some means or other, got wind of my project, to suppose that it 



124 A FROl'OSAL. [1804—1805 

may not, at first, be imputed to me.) And when their applauses 
become loud, general and confirmed, I will make a public disclaimer. 
If, by any fatality, they should not applaud, I hereby promise you 
that I never will disclaim. There is not much heroism in the oft'er, — 
for I know, with almost absolute certainty, that the result would be 
propitious. If it should, or should not, you will at least have an op- 
portunity of seeing and hearing a fair estimate of your pen, free from 
the weight which it would derive from the name of the Houourablc 
St. George Tucker, one of the Judges of the Supreme Court of 
Appeals of Virginia. 

I hope there is nothing improper in the proposal of this experiment. 
On my part it is, in a very great measure, the creature of curiosity. 
You say your works have been still-born ; no solution of this can be 
found in the works themselves, and I wish much to see if there be 
any fatality attached to names. If the proposal be, in any point of 
view, improper, I beg you to excuse it, and to be assured that there 
is nothing in the motives of the proposal which should excite your 
displeasure. 

* * * 4f * * 

Yours, most obsequiously, 

Wm. Wirt. 

The next is to Benjamin Edwai'ds, then a resident of Kentucky. 
We have already seen the kindly interest which this excellent gentle- 
man manifested in the early fortunes of the subject of this memoir, 
in taking him to his own house in Maryland, and in the p)arental soli- 
citude with which he protected and guided the youthful student, at 
a period when such friendly ofiBces were above all price. 

Seventeen years had elapsed since that day. But it will be seen 
from this letter, that the time gone by had not blunted the edge of 
the student's gratitude, nor dimmed his ardent afibction towards his 
worthy patron. Mr. Edwards had, during the interval between the 
date of this correspondence and the departure of his protege from 
beneath his roof, removed with his family to Kentucky, and was now 
a prosperous landholder in that state, surrounded by a thriving family, 
and happy in the contemplation of the present and prospective good 
fortune which enlivened the evening of his life. 

The interest which Mr. Edwards took in the career of his friend, 
and the affection with which it was reciprocated, were shown in a fre- 
quent correspondence between them, ever since the period of their 
separation. The following letter was called forth by the disappoint- 



Chap. X.] LETTER TO BENJAMIN EDWARDS 125 

ment which Mr. Edwards had recently expressed, upon the change 
of purpose in regard to Wirt's scheme of migration to Kentucky. It 
has reference to some matters of personal history, which may be 
acceptable to the reader : and it dwells with an honest warmth of 
grateful recollection, upon the topics of fomily endearment, the house- 
hold associations, the incidents and characteristics which made Mount 
Pleasant a precious picture on the memory of the writer. We shall 
not foil to remark, in the perusal of this letter, how agreeably it im- 
presses us with the benignity of the good man to whom it is addressed, 
the simplicity of his life, and the patriarchal character of his relation 
to those around him ; and how much there is in the writer of filial 
duty and reverence. 

TO BENJAMIN EDWARDS. 

Norfolk, March 17, 1805. 

I cannot describe to you, my dear Mr. Edwards, the sensations with 
whicb I have just read your most welcome and obliging letter of the 
17th ult., from Shiloh. I need not be ashamed to tell you that my 
tears bore witness to the sincerity and force of my feelings. You have 
taught me to love you like a parent. Well, indeed, may I do so ; 
since to you, to the influence of your conversation, your precepts, and 
your example in the most critical and decisive period of my life, I 
owe whatever of useful or good there may be in the bias of my mind 
and character. Continue then, I implore you, to think of me as a 
son, and teach your children to regard me as a brother : they shall 
find me one, indeed, if the wonder-working dispensations of Provi- 
dence should ever place them in want of a brother's arm, or mind, or 
bosom. 

You could not more strongly have expected my wife and me to 
partake of your Christmas turkey in 1803, than we ourselves expected 
it when I wrote you last. I was sensible that I owed you and my 
friend Ninian an apology, or rather an explanation, of the abrupt 
change of my plan in relation to Kentucky, and this explanation 
would have been certainly made at the proper time, but for a point 
of delicacy arising from the nature of the explanation itself. But 
now that the project is over, and with you, I fear, forever, I may 
explain to you without reserve. 

The first obstacle which I had to encounter arose from the difiiculty 
of compassing so much cash as would enable me to make my debut 
sufficiently respectable. To have disclosed this obstacle either to you 
or Ninian, after the strong desire wliich I had manifested to migrate 

11 * 



126 PROFESSIONAL HOPES. [180-1—1305. 

to your state, might have been liable to an interpretation, which, 
either from true or false pride, I chose to avoid. As I could not state 
to you this primary obstacle, I thought it would be disiugenuous to 
amuse you with an account of merely subordinate ones ; but noAV you 
shall know the whole truth. My wife, who was thoroughly convinced 
of the propriety of our removal to Keutuchy, had consented to it, 
from the dictates of reason and judgment, whilst her heart and affec- 
tions secretly revolted against the measure. Most dutifully and deli- 
cately, however, she concealed her repugnance from me, and I should 
never have known it, but for an accident. Waking one night, at 
midnight, while this journey was contemplated, I found her in tears; 
and, after much importunity, drew from her an acknowledgment that 
her distress proceeded from the idea of such a distant, and most pro- 
bably final, separation from her parents and family. 

I will not affect to deny that I believe this discovery and the man- 
ner of it, would have been decisive with me against the removal, even 
if the first objection had not existed. Fortune and fame are, indeed, 
considerations of great weight with me ; but they are light, compared 
with the happiness of the best of wives. About the time of this dis- 
covery, and while the current of my own inclinations had been thus 
cheeked and brought to an eddy, a young gentleman (a son of the 
late Judge Tazewell) who was at the head of the practice in this part 
of the state, very generously and disinterestedly waited on me at 
Williamsburg, opposed my removal by every argument that friendship 
or ingenuity could suggest, offered to recede, in my favour, from 
several of his most productive courts, painted the progressive prospe- 
rity of Norfolk in colours so strong and alluring, and exhibited such 
in-esistible evidence of the present profits of the practice in this 
borough and district, that my mind was left in ecjuipoise between 
Kentucky and Norfolk. 

At this critical juncture came a letter from you, in which you very 
amicably exhorted me against the indulgence of a too sanguine imagi- 
nation in regard to Kentucky. You stated that the specie had almost 
disappeared from the state, owing to the occlusion of Orleans, by the 
Spanish Intendant against your deposites — an inconvenience whose 
duration it was impossible to calculate, and represented that the gen- 
tlemen of my profession, like the other inhabitants of the state, carried 
on their business by barter, receiving their fees in negroes, horses, &c. 
Under the joint action of all these obstacles, difficulties, considerations 
and motives of policy and expedience, I was led to the adoption of 
the resolution which brought me here. And so here I am, abreast 
with the van of the profession in this quarter, with the brightest 
hopes and pro.spects; duping the people by a most Jenkinsonian ex- 
terior, using <' words of learned length and thundering sound," puffed 
by the newspapers as an orator, to which I have no pretensions, and 
honoured and applauded far beyond my deserts. It is only for the 



Chap. X.] FUTURE PROSPECTS. 127 

humiliation with which I see and hear what is written and said in my 
praise, that I give myself any credit. I have formed in my own 
imagination a model of professional greatness which I am far, very 
fai-, below, but to which I will never cease to aspire. It is to this 
model that I compare myself, whenever the world applauds, and the 
comparison humbles me to the dust. If ever I should rise to this 
imaginary prototype, I shall rest in peace. — Herculean enterprise ! 
But I must not despair, since it is only by aiming at perfection that 
a man can attain his highest practicable point. 

If a fortune is to be made by the profession in this country, I be- 
lieve I shall do it. It must require, however, fifteen or twenty yeais 
to effect this. Norfolk, as you guess, is very expensive. I keep, f )r 
instance, a pair of horses here, which cost me eight pounds per month. 
Wood is from four to eight dollars per cord ; Indian meal, through 
the winter, nine shillings per bushel, — this summer it is supposed it 
will be fifteen ; flour eleven and twelve dollars per barrel, a leg of 
mutton three dollars, butter three shiUings per pound, eggs two shil- 
lings and three pence per dozen, and so on. Having set out, however, 
with the view of making a provision for my family, in the event of 
my being called away from them, I live as economically as I can, so 
as to avoid giving my wife any reason for regret at the recollection of 
her father's house and table. After this year, I hope it will be in 
my power to nett annually two thousand dollars, by the practice, — 
but I do not expect ever to do more than this. I shall be content to 
leave the bar whenever my capital will nett me an annual revenue of 
four thousand dollars, and not till then. 

I am indeed sometimes very apprehensive that the yellow fever, 
which you mention, may cut this operation short, by removing me 
from this scene of things ; or protract it, by driving me from my busi- 
ness into annual exile, as was the case last summer and fall. If 1 
find this latter event likely to take place, I shall certainly use all my 
influence with my wife to reconcile her to Kentucky ; for even now, 
I will not conceal it from you, propitious as is the face of my affairs, 
your letter makes me sigh at the thought of your state. It is not, 
however, the idea of being " a comet in a naked horizon," which I 
long to realize. I have seen too many luminaries, infinitely my supe- 
riors in magnitude and splendour, to believe myself a comet ; nor can 
I believe that horizon naked which is adorned and lighted up with a 
Breckenridge, a Brown, a Maviry and N. Edwards. Besides, if I were 
ambitious, and it w^ere true that this part of the hemisphere were 
gilded with the brightest stars, I should, for that reason, choose this 
part. A glow-worm would be distinguished amid total darkness ; but 
it requires a sun indeed to eclipse the starry fii-mameut. No, sir. It 
is the G-reen River land which makes me sigh ; the idea of being re- 
leased from the toils of my profession by independence, in six or eight 
years, and of pursuing it afterwards at my ease, and only on great 



128 FAMILY AFFAIRS. - [1804—1805, 

occasions, and for great fees ; of having it in my power to indulge 
myself in the cultivation of general science ; of luxuriating in literary 
amusements, and seeking literary eminence. Those are the objects 
which I have been accustomed to look to, as the most desirable com- 
panions in the meridian of life ; and six or eight years more would 
just bring me to that age at which Parson Hunt and his son William 
used to predict, in moments of displeasure and reproof, that I should 
begin to be a man, — viz., at forty. It is because your letter holds 
out probabilities like these, that I sigh. For I know that, by the 
practice of this countrj-, independence by my profession is a great 
way off. 

How much it would delight me to live once more vrithin eye and 
earshot of 3'ou ! To be able to talk over with you the affairs of Mount 
Pleasant, and of my youth ; to hear your raillery and your laugh ; 
these are things that I could think of until I should be quite un- 
manned : — but enough. My wife has given me two children in little 
more than two years. We were married on the 7th September, 1802, 
and on the 3d September, 1803, she gave me a daughter, now a lovely 
child, going on nineteen months old, and with the romantic name of 
Laura Henrietta, the first the favourite of Petrarch, the last the chris- 
tian name of my mother. On the 31st day of last January she gave 
me a son, who is certainly a very handsome child, and, if there be any 
truth in physiognomy, a fellow whose native sheet of intellectual paper 
is of as fine a texture and as lustrous a white as the fond heart even 
of a parent can desire. My fancy is already beginning to build for 
him some of those airy tenements, in the erection of which my youth 
has been wasted. My wife wants to call this boy Robert Gamble ; 
and as this is a matter altogether within the lady's department, I shall 
give way. She was just twenty-one the 30th day of last January, and 
I was thirty-two the 8th day of last November; so I hope we may 
reach my wished-for number of tvrelvc, and be almost as patriarchal, 
by and by, as yourself. 

How much you gratify me by the circumstantial description of your 
children — their prosi)crity now, and their hopeful prospects ! May 
all your wishes in regard to them be fulfilled ! I hope and pray so, 
from my inmost soul ! I have a kind of dim presage that I shall yet 
be in Kentucky, time enough for your Benjamin Franklin, if not for 
Cyrus. Heaven send I may ever have it in my power to be of any 
use to either of your children ! Pray remember me to them all, with 
the regard of a brother, and present mc to Mrs. Edwards, with the 
respect and dutiful affection of a son. Shall I ever see you again, in 
the midst of them on your form, disengaged from all care, and happy 
as you deserve to be '{ You cannot think with what tenderness my 
memory dwells on Mount Pleasant and the neighbourhood. I remem- 
ber, indeed, very many follies to blush at and be ashamed of, yet still 
it is one of those '' sunny spots" in the course of my life, in which 



Chap. X] OLD ACQUAINTANCES, 129 

r30olloction dearly loves to bask. Let me be free with you, for you 

used to make me so. To this day, the image of B. S is as fresh 

in my mind as if she had just left Mount Pleasant, on Sunday evcn- 
i!ig, on the bay mare, and my eyes had followed her through the gate, 
and as far around as she was visible, on her way home. And the 

investigation which you once made of the diiference between K 's 

passion for her and mine, is just as vivid as if it had passed on yester- 
day. By-the-bye, you have not said a word of my friend K , and 

as I take a very strong interest in his welfare, let me hear of him 
when you write next. 

I thank you very much for your mention of several of my old 
acquaintances. Among them all. Jack Wallace (if he is the sou of 
James) is my favourite. Nature, indeed, had not taken much pains 
in the cast of his genius, but she gave him one of the sweetest tem- 
pers, and one of the finest and noblest hearts that ever warmed a 
human breast. 

Major W , I presume, is my schoolmate, William, who used 

to live at Montgomery court-house. When we were at school together, 
about the year 1785, he was thought one of the world's wonders, or 
rather, a new wonder, in point of genius. Where is the hopeful 
promise of his youth ? Smothered under the leaden atmosphere of 
indolence ? Or has it faded, like the first flower of the spring, to bud 
and bloom no more ? 

****** 

Of Q. M I only remember that he was a large-faced, well-grown 

boy, who learnt the Latin grammar until he came to pemia-a-pen, 
where he stuck fast, and his father took him away in despair. But 
it is possible that I may be mistaken, and am confounding him with 
some other boy. One other thing I am sure of, that he had a very 

pretty sister, whose name was L , with whom I was very much 

in love one whole night, at an exhibition ball, in the neighbourhood 

of Parson Hunt's. E. M , I do not remember at all. I could 

not have been acquainted with him, nor, I think, with M. L . I 

well remember the family of the latter, who lived on a hill, near a 
j mill-pond of Samuel W. Magruder's. There were five or six of us, 
of the family of Magruder, who, after bathing of a Sunday in the 
pond, used to go up and see a sister of Matthew's, whose name was 
Betsey (a name always fatal to me). I was then about twelve years 
old, and I remember that for one whole summer, that girl disturbed 
my peace considerably. The sex, I believe, never had an earlier or 
more fervent votary; but it was all light work till I came to B. 

S . To this moment I think kindly of her, even in the grave. 

* * * * * * _ 

I have used already a good deal of egotism in this letter : but it is 
unavoidable in letters between friends ; and it certainly is not desirable 
to avoid it between friends so far sundered as we are, who are obliged 

I 



130 THE BRITISH SPY. [1804—1805. 

to resort to letters as a substitute for conversation. For my own part., , 
I sat down with a determination to write just as I woiild talk with i 
you, in order that I might approach as near as possible to the enjoy- - 
nient of 3-our company 3 and, as I should certainly have talked a greats 
deal of levity and nonsense, so have I written, and so I shall still 1 
write, although I know that I am taxing you with a heavy postage. 

But to myself again. I find you have read the British Spy, and, , 
from your allusion to it, I presume you have understood me to be the ■ 
author. It is true. I wrote those letters to while away six anxious > 
vv'eeks which preceded the birth of my daughter. In one respect they 
were imprudent. They inflicted wounds which I did not intend. 
«• -;:- -;f -x- •;■;- * 

In the esteem of a penetrating and learned man, the British Spy 
would injure me, because it would lead him to believe my mind light 
and superficial ; but its effect on the body of the people here (on 1 
whom I depend for my fortune) has, I believe, been very advau-- 
tagcous. It was bought iip with great avidity; a second edition i 
called for and bought up ; and the editor, when I saw him last, talked 1 
of striking a third edition. It has been the means of making me ■ 
extensively known, and known to my advantage, except, perhaps, 
with such men as Jeffei'son and Jay, whose just minds readily ascer- 
tain the difference between bullion and chaff". 

vf 7<- TT -X- -X- 

The title of this fiction was adopted for concealment, that thereby 
I nnght have an opportunity of hearing myself criticised without"; 
restraint. But I was surprised to find myself known after the third I; 
letter appeared. Having once adopted the character of an English- • 
man, it was necessary to support that character throughout, by 
expressing only British sentiments ; yet, there were some men Aveak : 
enough, in this state, to suspect, from this single cause, that I hadi 
apostatized from the rejuiblican faith. The suspicion, however, is- 
now pretty well over. 

* ^- -x- * * 

I am your friend, and 

Your son by election, 

Wm. Wirt. 



CHAPTER XI. 

1805—1806. 

[NCREASING REPUTATION. — DISLIKE OP CRIMINAL TRIALS. MEDI- 
TATES A RETURN TO RICHMOND. AN OLD-FASHIONED WEDDING 

AT WILLIAMSBURG. — 'LETTERS. — A DISTASTE EOR POLITICAL 
LIFE. 

Mr. "Wirt coEtinued to reside in Norfolk until July, 1806. His 
life here was one of close application to business, and his professional 
career was characterised by its rapid and steady progress upward to- 
wards the attainment of reputation, influence, and independence. He 
practised largely through the district, extending his attendance upon 
the coui-ts as far as Williamsburg, and into the counties adjacent to 
Norfolk. He was already accounted one of the most elocjuent advo- 
cates in the state, and was growing fast to be considered one of the 
ablest of her lawyers. ■ His renown as an advocate brought him into 
almost every criminal trial of note within the circuit of his practice, 
and overburdened him with a species of business sufficiently disgust- 
ing in its best phase, but which, in its varied demands upon a man in 
whom the mere pride of eloquent speech has not deadened the sen- 
sibility of his heart to what is good and bad, cannot but grow to be 
inexpressibly irksome and offensive^ 

''I am becoming ill at ease," he writes to Mrs. Wirt, from Wil- 
liamsburg, during this period, '^ at this long absence from you and my 
children. * * j look to you as a refuge from care and toil. It 
is this anticipation only which enables me to sustain the pressure of 
employments so uncongenial with my spirit: this indiscriminate 
defence of rio-ht and wrong — this zealous advocation of causes at 
which my soul revolts — this playing of the nurse to villains, and oc- 
cupying myself continually in cleansing them — it is sickening, even 
to death. But the time will come when I hope it will be unne- 
cessary." 

(131) 



132 MEDITATES A RETURN TO RICHMOND. [1805—1806. 

He began to long for tlie privilege of an exelusive devotion of his 
time to that higher range of practice which, dealing with the more 
complicated affairs of society, gives occasion for the employment of 
the subtlest powers of intellect, in the study and development of the 
great principles of right. In this sphere of forensic life, as distin- 
guished from that which is properly assigned to the advocate, is only 
to be achieved that best renown which has followed the names of the 
greatest lawyers. It exacts not only the cultivation of the highest 
order of eloquence, but the study also of the noblest topics of human 
research, in the nice questions of jurisprudence and ethics, and finds 
its most powerful auxiliaries in the learning that belongs to the his- 
tory and philosophy of man. Popular advocacy, on the other hand, 
whilst it allures its votary into a path made vocal with the applause 
of the multitude, seduces his mind from its love of truth, teaches 
him to disparage the wealth of the best learning, and to account the 
triumph won in the open amphitheatre in the presence of the crowd, 
as more precious than all the gems which are turned up in the silent 
delvings of the student patiently toiling with no companion but his 
lamp. 

In the hope of soon obtaining that position at the bar which should 
enable him to realize these longings of his heart, Wirt laboured, with 
cheerful submission to the present necessity which compelled him to 
obey whatever call his profession made upon him. He looked 
anxiously for the day of his return to Richmond, resolved that that 
period should not be long postponed. The usual unhealthiness of 
Norfolk during the autumn, which was occasionally aggravated by 
the appearance of the yellow fever, forced him to remove his family 
during the warm season, to Richmond, or still further towards the 
mountains, whilst he himself was obliged to remain in the borough, 
or make his circuits into the neighbouring counties. These separa- 
tions from his household disquieted him. Passionately attached to 
liis wife and children, it was ever the engrossing subject of his 
tlioaghts to push his professional success to the point which would 
•allow him to remain at home, — and that home, as he hoped, in 
Richmond. 

" I amuse myself," he says in the same letter I have last quoted, 
"in planning fairy visions of futurity I imagine that we have laid 



Chaf. XL] ASPIRATIONS. 133 

by money enougli to build a house in Richmond — that we are living 
there, and I practising in the Superior Courts, in the van of the pro- 
fession, making my a year without once lea-\ang the town." 

May 10th, 1805, he writes to Mrs. W., — " We will go to Eich- 
mond to live as soon as prudence will permit. But Norfolk is the 
ladder by which we are to climb the hills of Eichmond advantage- 
ously. — Norfolk is the cradle of our fortune." 

Whilst turning over many letters written during this year to Sirs. 
Wirt, from which I make but meagre extracts — the following passage 
occurs, which speaks an earnest and most characteristic aspiration of 
the writer. 

***** "I have been in- 

terrupted by Judge Prentiss, who came into my room to look at the 
miniature of Patrick Henry, which has been sent to me by Judge 
Winston, and to read a very interesting narrative of P, H., by the 
same gentleman. JMr. Winston's is a hundred times better told than 

either or 's. The project pleases me more and more, and 

I hope to be enabled to immortalize the memory of Henry and to do 
no discredit to my own fame. The idea has been always very di-smal 
to me, of dropping into the grave like a stone into the water, and let- 
ting the waves of Time close over me, so as to leave no trace of the 
spot on which I fall. For this reason, at a very early period of my 
youth, I resolved to profit by the words of Sallust, who advises, that 
if a man wishes his memory to live forever on the earth, he must 
either write something worthy of being always read, or do something 
worthy of being written and immortalized by history. Perhaps it is 
no small degree of vanity to think myself capable of either; — but I 
have been always taught to consider the passion for fame as not only 
iimocent, but laudable and even noble. I' mean that kind of fame 
which follows virtuous and useful actions." 

In the same correspondence I find a letter from which I take a de- 
scription of a wedding at Williamsburg, in April, 1806. It is worth 
preserving as a sketch of manners and customs in the Old Dominion 
at that date : 

'■' * * '■' I went last night to Miss P 's 

wedding. The crowd was great, tlic room warm, the spirit of dan- 
cing was upon them, and the area so small that a man could not lift 

Vol. I. — 12 



134 AN OLD-FASHIONED WEDDING. [1805—1806. 

a foot M-ithout the hazard of setting it down upon a neighbour's. But 

then, by way of balancing the account, there was a group of very gay 

and pretty girls. Miss P. herself, never looked so lovely before. 

She was dressed perfectly plain, wore her own hair, without wreath, 

laurel or other ornament. She had not a flower nor an atom of gold 

or silver about her : there was a neat pair of pearl pendants in her 

ears, but without any stone or metallic setting. Her dress a pure 

white muslin : — but she danced at least a hundred reels, and the roses 

in her cheeks were blown to their fullest bloom. You know she is a 

very pretty girl ; but Sally C, who was also there, seemed to bear 

off the bell." 

******* 

" But to the wedding. I went with the intention of seeing 

my friends, merely peeping into the supper-room, and coming home 
in an hour or two at farthest. But I got there about eight o'clock, 
and the dancing-room was so thronged as to be impenetrable without 
an cxeltion of strength which would have been very inconvenient to 
me in so warm a room, and much more inconvenient to those whom I 
might overset in my career. So, I watched the accidental opening 
of avenues, and it was an hour and a half, at least, before I had kissed 
the bride — which, by-the-bye, I did under the pretence of delivering 
A message from you — and made the bows which were due from me. 
The enquiries after you and your children were many and apparently 
affectionate. 

" It was past eleven when the sanctum sanctorum of the supper- 
room was thrown open — although I don't know but that the designa- 
tion of the sanctum would be better applied to another apartment in 
the house — and it was near twelve when it came to my turn to see 
the show. And a very superb one it was, I assure you. The tree in 
the centre cake was more simply elegant than any thing of the kind 
I remember to have seen. It was near four feet hiffh : the cake it- 
self, the pedestal, had a rich — very rich — fringe of white paper sm-- 
rounding it: the leaves, baskets, garlands, &c., &e., were all very 
naturally done in white paper, not touched with the pencil, and the 
baskets were rarely ornamented with silver spangles. At the ends 
of the tables were two lofty pyramids of jellies, syllabubs, ice-creams, 
&c. — the ivhich pyramids were connected with the tree in the centre 



CEap. XL] LETTER TO MR. EDWARDS. 135 

cake by pure white paper chains, very prettily cut, hanging in light 
and delicate festoons, and ornamented with paper bow-knots. Between 
the ceuti-e cake and each pyramid was another large cake 7nade 
for use : then there was a profusion of meats, cheese-cakes, fruits, 
etc., etc. 

" But there were two unnatural things at table ; — a small silver 
globe on each side of the tree, which might have passed — if Char- 
lotte, to enhance their value, had not told us that they were a fruit — 
whose name I don't recollect — between the size of a shaddock and 
an orange, covered with silver leaf; — which was rather too outlandish 
for my palate. All the grandees of the place were there ." 

:^ -^ :^ ^ >ii ■^ ^ 

The particularity and quaiutness of this description of a wedding 
supper of more than forty years ago, in low Virginia, has a smack in 
it which may remind one of Froissart, or some enraptured chronicler 
of a banquet scene of those days when "ancientry and state" were 
held in more reverence than the present. The great centre cake and 
its white paper tree four feet high, and the paper chains hanging in 
delicate festoons from the topmost boughs, all the way over the table 
to the apexes of the pyramids of jellies, and the two large cakes be- 
low, "for use," and the silver globes — a pleasant picture this of 
home manufactured grandeur of the old time, when a blooming bride 
danced "a hundred reels" on the wedding night, giving fresh bril- 
liancy to the roses of her cheek ! " Old times are changed, old man- 
ners gone," — and Williamsburg, doubtless, has . dismissed the great 
paper tree and the sweet mould in which it grew, for modern fopperies. 
We may thank the young lawyer who has so happily preserved these 
images. 

We come now to another letter to the good friend of his youth 

TO BENJAMIN EDWARDS. 

Norfolk, May 6, 1806 
JIy Dear Sir : 

You see I have not gotten rid of my levities, and most certainly 
I never shall while I live ; they make an essential part of my con- 
stitution. I catch myself, sometimes, singing and dancing about the 



136 VAGARIES. [1605—1806. 

house like a madman, to the very gi-eat amusement of my -wife and 
children, and probably of the passengers who are accidentally going 
along the street. This is very little like the wise conduct which 
Shakspeare makes Henry IV. recommend to his son : but the hare- 
brained find some consolation in the figure which Henry V. made in 
spite of his father's maxims of gravity. Yet I hope you will not be- 
lieve that I either sing or dance in the street or in the court-house. 
I know the indispensable importance of a little state, to draw the 
magic circle of respect around one's self and repel intrusion and 
vulgarity. 

* * -x- * * * 

To be sure, in a letter, it is not so material if a man cuts an eccen- 
tric caper here and there ; but I feel the same propensity when I am 
arguing a cause before a com-t and jury ; although I see the ti'ack 
l^lainly before me, yet, like an ill-disciplined race-horse, I am perpetu- 
ally bolting or flying the way, and this, too, perhaps in the very crisis 
of the argument. After having laid my premises to advantage, often 
having gone through an elaborate deduction of principles, in the very 
instant when I am about to reap the fruit of my toil, by drawing my 
conclusion, and when everybody is on tiptoe expectation of it, some 
meteor springs up before me, and, in spite of me, I am off, like Com- 
modore Trunnion's hunter, when the pack of hounds crossed him so 
unpropitiously, just as he was arriving at chm-ch to seize the hand of 
his anxious and expecting bride. I was in conversation the other day 
with a very intimate friend of mine on this subject, and was lamenting 
to him this laxity of intellect, which I was sure arose from the want 
of a well-directed education. He admitted that I had ascribed it to 
its proper cause, but doubted whether it ought to be lamented as a 
defect, suggesting that the man in whose imagination these meteors 
were always shooting, bid much fairer both for fame and fortune than 
the dry and rigid logician, however close and cogent. In reply, it 
was but necessary for me to appeal to examples before our ej'es, to 
disprove his suggestion. One was Alexander Camj3bell, whose voice 
had all the softness and melody of the harp ; whose mind was at once 
an orchard and a flower-garden, loaded with the best fruits, aud smil- 
ing in all the many-coloured bloom of spring; whose delivery, action, 
style and manner were perfectly Ciceronian, and who, with all these 
advantages, died by his own hand. * * h-. * 

On the other hand, here is John Marshall, whose mind seems to be 
little else than a mountain of barren and stupendous rocks, an inex- 
haustible quarry, from which he draws his materials and builds his 
fabrics, rude aud Gothic, but of such strength that neither time nor 
force can beat them down ; a fellow who would not turn off" a single 
step from the right line of his argument, though a Paradise should 
rise to tempt him ; who, it appears to me, if a tlowcr were to spring 
in his mind, would strike it up with his spade as indignantly as a 



Chap. XT.] MATHEMATICAL STUDY. 137 

farmer would a noxious plant from his meadow ; yet who, all dry and 
rigid as he is, has acquired all the wealth, fame and honour that a 
man need to desire. There is no theorizina; airainst focts : Marshall's 
certainly is the true road to solid and lasting i-eputation in courts of 
law. The habits of his mind are directly those which an accurate and 
familiar acquaintance with the mathematics generates. 

****** 

I feel so sensibly my own deficiencies in this mathematical study, 
that, if Heaven spares my son, and enables me to educate him, I will 
qualif}' him to be a professor in it, before he shall know what poetry 
and rhetoric are. If he turns out to have fimcy and imagination, he 
will then be in less danger of being run away with and unhorsed by 
them. If he is for the bar, I shall never cease to inculcate Marshall's 
method, being perfectly persuaded that for courts, and especially su- 
perior and appellate courts, (where there are no juries,) it is the only 
true method. It is true, that if I had my choice, I would much rather 
have my son (as to mind) a Mirabeau than a Marshall, — if such a 
prodigy, as I have heard Mirabeau described by Mr. Jeiferson, did 
ever really exist. For he spoke of him as uniting two distinct and 
perfect characters in himself, whenever he pleased ; — the mere logi- 
cian, with a mind apparently as sterile and desolate as the sands of 
Arabia, but reasoning at such times with an Herculean foi'ce, which 
nothing could resist ; at other times, bursting out with a flood of elo- 
quence more sublime than Milton ever imputed to the cherubim and 
seraphim, and bearing all before him. I can easily conceive that a 
man might have either of these characters in perfection, or some por- 
tion of each ; but that the same mind should unite them both, and 
each in perfection^ appears to me, considering the strong contrast in 
their essence and operation, to be indeed a prodigy. Yet I suppose it 
is true, " for Brutus is an honourable man." 

* * * * ■ * * 

No, my dear friend, I shall certainly never become famous by burn- 
ing a temple, or despising the religion of Christ. On these subjects, 
in tlie heat, vanity and ostentation of youth, I once thought and spoke, 
to ill}- shame, too loosely. A series of rescues from the brink of ruin, 
to which, whenever left to myself, I madly rushed, convinced me that 
there was an invisible, benevolent power, who was taking an interest 
in my preservation. I hops that ingratitude is not one of vxy vices. 
The conviction which I have just mentioned, no sooner struck my 
heart, than it was filled with a sentiment which, I hope, v.'ill save me 
from the fate of a Voltaire and a Domitian. 

The friendly hope which you express, that you will live to hear me 
toasted at every political dinner, for superior virtues and wisdom, is 
indeed very obliging, but very unfounded. You know how poor I 
have always been. The rocks and shoals of poverty and bankruptcy 
lie very near to the whirlpool of dishonour and infamy. Among these 

12* 



138 MEDITATES ANOTHER REMOVAL. [1805—1806. 

rocks and shoals I have been tossing and beating ever since I entered 
upon the world. The whirlpool I have escaped, and, thank Heaven, 
feel myself now out of danger : but that horrible danger I shall never 
forget ; nor shall I cease struggling till I place my children out of its 
reach. This cannot be done if I give myself up to politics. This 
latter might be the I'oad to distinction, but not to independence, either 
for myself or my children. When I have placed my wife and child- 
ren beyond the reach of this world's cold and reluctant charity, unfeel- 
ing insolence, or more insulting pity, then my country shall haA'e all 
the little service which I am capable of rendering. But while I have 
opportunities of hearing, seeing and reading, and making comparisons 
between other men and myself, I cannot believe that the little all of 
my services will ever make me a political toast. Nor, indeed, do I 
envy that distinction to any man ; for I remember how Miltiades, 
Aristides, Cicero, Demosthenes and many others were once idolized 
by their countrymen; and I remember the disastrous proof which 
their examples aflforded of the fickleness of popular favour, and the 
danger of aspiring to political distinctions even by the exercise of vir- 
tues. Yet I would not shrink from their fate, if my country required 
the sacrifice at my hands. All I mean to say is, that I shall never 
enter on the political highway in quest of happiness. Thank Heaven ! 
I have it at home ; — a wife, in whose praise, if I were to indulge it, 
my pen would grow as wanton as Juba's tongue in praise of his Mar^ 
cia; two cherub children; a revenue which puts us quite at ease 
in the article of living, and the respect and esteem of my acquaint- 
ances, and I may say of Virginia. A man who has blessings like 
these in possession, will not be very wise to jeopard them all by 
launching on the stormy Baltic of politics. 

Ever your friend and servant, 

Wm, Wirt. 

Wirt had now made up his mind to remove to Richmond. A 
scheme which had already taken such hold upon his fancy, required 
no vehement enforcement from the advice of friends. His distrust 
upon this question of removal, and the suspense it had encountered in 
his mind, seem to have been effectively banished by the accidental 
counsel of his friend Judge Tucker. From Williamsburg, whilst at- 
tending court there, April, 1806, he writes thus to his wife : 

* sj: * * * '!< 

'' Williamsburg is just as hospitable and as beautiful as ever. * 
* * I told the Judge (Tucker) privately, that my friends 

were pressing me to fix myself in Richmond. He caught at it with 
his usual enthusiasm, — insisted I should adopt the plan, — swore that 



Chap. XL] DOUBTS IN REGARD TO IT. 139 

I could not live another year in Norfolk, — declared that I had fattened 
at least forty pounds since he saw me in the winter, and that I was so 
fit a subject for the fever, he didn't know the man on whose life he 
would not sooner buy an annuity than on mine ; said he was sure I 
should do well at the bar there, after a year or two ; and that, even 
for the present, I might well support my family in Richmond and the 
neighbourhood. I am perfectly confounded by the arguments pro 
and con. I pray Heaven to assist me with its counsels. Think of 
this subject again, deliberately and free from bias, my dear B. You 
shall decide it as you please ; and whatever may be the result, I shall 
always believe you advised for the best. * * 

* * Do not yield too much to inclination in the 

aforesaid pros and cons. It is a measure which, if resolved on, will 
either ruin or make us happy ; and, in the former event, it may end 
in Kentucky. I confess that when I bring the movement close to 
my mind, and imagine myself just about to commence it, I am swayed 
by doubts like those which agitate Hamlet, when he meditates self- 
destruction : — he was afraid of losing Heaven, I, of an earthly Para- 
dise. May Heaven guide us !" 

This point, — " whether it was better to bear the ills'^ he had, " or 
fly to others" that he knew not of, — gave him, however, pause of no 
great duration. The auspicious and better counsels of Mrs. Wirt pre- 
vailed. In a few months after this letter, he took a house in Rich- 
mond upon a lease of five years, and set himself to the business of his 
removal with all proper despatch. 



CHAPTER XII. 

1806. 

REMOVES TO RICHMOND. — A PROFESSIONAL CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 
DEFENCE OF SWINNEY. — CHANCELLOR WYTHE. — JUDGE CA- 
BELL. — LETTER TO MRS. W. ON SWINNEY's CASE. — FONDNESS 

FOR MUSIC. LETTER TO F. W. GILMER. RECOLLECTIONS OP 

PEN PARK. 

His dwelling-place is now once more in Riclimond. His return 
to tlae bar there is signalized by a case of conscience, tbe proposing 
of which shows that he had now reached that point in his profession 
in which, no longer impelled by hard necessity, he might debate with 
Ijimself a question of casuistry, upon the merits of taking employment 
in a criminal cause, wherein he had reason to believe the criminal 
unworthy of defence. This is a new era in his forensic life. It is 
an incident which does not always arrive in the career of even eminent 
lawyers. The point has often been a debated question. The better 
opinion of the bar seems generally to have settled it on the side of 
their own interest ; much to the gratification of culprits, who, however 
steeped in iniquity, find no lack of energetic and skilful defence from 
the brightest, if not the best, lights of the profession. A trial is re- 
garded as a species of tourney, in which the champions are expected 
to show their prowess — to use a phrase of the British Spy — in 
"forensic digladiation," as little concerned with the intrinsic right or 
wrong of the accusation, as the knights of the ancient tilting-yard 
were with the real merits of the beauty of their respective mistresses. 
The laws of chivalry placed the true knight in a category somewhat 
resembling that of Captain Absolute. ''Zounds, sirrah, the lady 
shall be as ugly as I choose : she shall have a hump on each shoulder ; 
she shall be as crooked as the crescent ; her one eye shall roll like 
tlie bull's in Coxe's Museum ; she shall have a skin like a mummy, 
and the beard of a Jew, — she shall be all this, — and you shall ogle 

(140) 



Chap. XII.] CHANCELLOR WYTHE. 141 

her all day and sit up all night to write sonnets on her beauty." 
The question of conscience ordinarily fares no better in the courts, in 
the customary tilting there in defence of suspected innocence. 

The case which now exercised the mediation of Wirt was that of a 
man, by the name of Swinney, charged with the crime of poisoning 
the venerable Chancellor Wythe, who had just died in Richmond, 
under circumstances which led to a strong suspicion of the guilt of 
the accused. Chancellor Wythe was one of the best men the country 
ever produced. Distinguished for the simplicity of his character, his 
bland and amiable manners, his uprightness and steadfast devotion to 
duty, he was universally beloved in the society of Richmond. 

I am indebted to almost estimable lady, the wife of Judge Cabell, 
of Richmond, the President of the Court of Appeals of Virginia,* to 
both of whom frequent reference will be found in these memoirs, for 
some recollections of the Chancellor which very agreeably confirm 
what has been often said of his gentle and philanthropic temper ; and 
which will also afford melancholy testimony as to the foul deed which 
is supposed to have terminated his life. 

This lady, in a letter to her sister, Mrs. Wirt, says : — " You and I 
may remember the trouble he gave himself to entertain the visiters of his 
young niece, Miss Nelson, who lived with him a few years. She and 
all of us were almost children, and few grown men would have found 
any interest in staying in the room where we were. But the good 
old gentleman brought forth his philosophical apparatus and amused 
us by exhibiting experiments, which we did not well comprehend, it 
is true, but he tried to make us do so, and we felt elevated by such 
attentions from so great a man. 

* William H. Cabell, the gentleman here alluded to, now at the bead of 
the Bench of Virginia, crowned with the richest honours of a ripe old age, 
and surrounded by an affectionate circle of friends, married Agnes, the eldest 
daughter of Col. Gamble, and sister of Mrs. Wirt. He represented Amherst 
county in the Legislature of Virginia from 1793 to 1S05, except during three 
years of this interval. In 1S05 he was elected Governor of the State, and 
at the expiration of three years was appointed to the Bench of the General 
Court. He was transferred, in ISll, to the Court of Appeals, of which he 
is at this time (1849) the President. The connection between him and 
Mr. Wirt, laid the foundation of an intimate friendship, wnich was increased 
with every succeeding year until death dissolved it. Many proofs of thig 
maybe found in tlie correspondence to which our narrative hereafter refers. 
In this intimacy, it will be seen also, that Josepli Cabell, the brother of the 
Judge, largely participated. 



142 DEATH OF THE CHANCELLOR. [1806. 

"To test the theory that there was no natural inferiority of intellect 
in the negro, compared with the white man, he had one of his own 
servant boys and one of his nephews both educated exactly alike. I 
believe, however, that neither of them did much credit to their 
teacher. 

" The young men who studied law with him, or who were occupied 
in his service, were all devoted to him. Henry Clay was one of them. 
The Chancellor lived to a very old age. In his appearance he was 
thin, rather tall, but stooped from age and debility, as he walked to 
and from the Capitol to his own house. He generally lived alone, 
but in his latter years he had a nephew with him to whom he in- 
tended to bequeath his estate. This was Swinney. The common 
belief was that this man, being impatient for his uncle's money, 
poisoned him. He was tried for his life. Mr. Wirt was his lawyer, 
and he was acquitted. Yet there was but little doubt of his guilt in 
the minds of most persons. The cook said that he came into the 
kitchen and dropped something white into the coffee-pot, making some 
excuse to her for doing so. She and another servant partook of the 
coffee. I have heard that the latter died in consequence. The coffee- 
grounds being thrown out, some fowls ate of them and died. The 
unhappy old gentleman lived long enough after taking the coffee to 
alter his will, so that the suspected man got no portion of his estate 
at last. The coffee-grounds were examined, and arsenic was found in 
abundance mingled with them." 

This little sketch presents the outlines of the case, as it was de- 
veloped at the trial and in the investigations of the day. 

Wirt's doubts, to which I have alluded, upon the propriety of en- 
gaging in the defence of Swinney, are told in the following letter 
written from Williamsburg, after he had engaged his house in Rich- 
mond, and in the moments of his removal thither. 



TO MRS. WIRT. 

Williamsburg, July 13, 1806. 

" I have had an application made to me yesterday, whicli embar- 
rasses me not a little, and I wish your advice upon it. I dare say 
you have heard me say that I hoped no one would undertake the de- 



Chap. XII.] A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 143 

fence of Swinney, but that he would be left to the fate which he 
seemed so justly to merit. Judge Nelson, himself, has changed, a 
good deal, the course of my opinions on this subject, by stating that 
there was a dilFcrence in the opinion of the faculty in Richmond as to 
the cause of Mr. Wythe's death, and that the eminent McClurg, 
amongst others, had pronounced that his death was caused simply by 
bile and not by poison. I had concluded that his innocence was pos- 
sible, and, therefore, that it would not be so horrible a thing to defend 
him as, at first, I had thought it. But I had scarcely made up my 
mmd on this subject, little supposing that any application would be 
made to me. Yesterday, however, a Major A. M., a very respectable 
gentleman, and an uncle to Swinney on the mother's side, came down 
in the stage from Richmond, and made that application in a manner 
which affected me very sensibly. He stated the distress and distrac- 
tion of his sister, the mother of Swinney ; said it was the wish of the 
young man to be defended by me, and that if I would undertake it 
it would give peace to his relations. What shall I do ? If there is 
no moral or professional impropriety in it, I know that it might be 
done in a manner which would avert the displeasure of every one from 
me, and give me a splendid debut in the metropolis. Judge Nelson 
says I ought not to hesitate a moment to do it; that no one can justly 
censure me for it ; and, for his own part, he thinks it highly proper 
that the young man should be defended. Being himself a relation 
of Judge Wythe's, and having the most delicate sense of propriety, I 
am disposed to confide very much in his opinion. But I told JMajor 
M., I would take time to consider of it, and give him an answer, at 
the farthest, in a month. I beg you, my dear B., to consider this 
subject, and collect, if you can conveniently in conversation, the 
opinions of your parents and Cabell, and let me hear the result. My 
conduct through life is more important to you and your children than 
even to myself; for to my own heart I mean to stand justified by 
doing nothing that I think wrong. But, for your sakes, I wish to do 
nothing that the world shall think wrong. I would not have you or 
them subject to one rcj)roach hereafter because of me." 

:): 5|; * >!« sK ^ 

On such a question as is here pi'oposed — indeed on most questions 
of conduct or duty, — the sensibility of an intelligent and virtuous 
woman is often worth more than all the dialectics of the most accom- 
plished casuist, to discern what it best becomes us to do in a matter 
I that touches our reputation. Her feelings are but the quick percep- 
tions of a heart that reasons better than the mind. Guided by the 
instinctive love, characteristic of her sex, of what is beautiful, not 
less in moral than in physical life, she lights upon her conclusion 
■with a rapidity and a truth which outstrip all argument in speed, and 



144 DEFENCE OF SWINNEY. [1806. 

often, in equal degree, surpass it in wisdom. When this judgment 
is stimulated by the affectionate anxiety of a wife, it is even less apt 
to stray into error : the very tenderness of her relation renders it the 
more impartial. 

How it fared in regard to Swinney's case, is told in a passage from 
a letter written within ten days after the last. * * * 

" I shall defend young Swinney under your counsel. My conscience 
is perfectly clear^ from the accounts I hear of the conflicting evidence. 
Judge Nelson again repeats, on consideration, the opinion he before 
gave me as to the perfect propriety of the step." 

Swinney, as we have seen, was tried and acquitted. I have no 
record to furnish me the grounds of this acquittal, much less to en- 
able me to say any thing of " the splendid deiut" which Wirt an- j 
ticipated. 

It is not unlikely that the trial terminated in favour of the 
accused from a defect in the evidence, by no means unusual in those 
states, whose statutory law disqualifies a witness from giving testi- 
■ mony, upon objections founded merely in the race or blood of the 
person acquainted with the facts. The cook in this case, who seems 
to have been, perhaps, the only direct witness, we may conjecture, 
was a negro, and forbidden to be heard in a court of justice. If this 
be the real cause of the acquittal, it presents a very striking and 
cogent example of the impolicy of a law so prevalent in the United 
States. It may well be questioned, whether more inconvenience and 
mischief do not result from such legal restraints as disable our fami- 
liar servants from testifying to the thousand transactions in which our 
interest is concerned, and under circumstances that scarcely admit of 
other testimony, than can be compensated by any supposed good which 
may properly be ascribed to the disqualification. Is there, in fact, 
any just ground of policy in shutting off the only testimony by which 
innocence may be proved, guilt established, or common matters of 
right determined ? Are not courts and jiu-ies sufiiciently able to judge 
of the credibility of a witness in every case ? 

We pass from these speculations to the regular course of our nar- 
rative. 

Wirt was passionately fond of music, and devoted a portion of 
his time to its cultivation throughout every period of his life. The 



c.iAP. XII.] MUSIC. 145 

following playful letter was written to commend a tcaclicr of tbc art 
to a friend of his in Williamsburg who was at the head of an academy 
there. 

TO LEROY ANDERSON. 

RiciiMoxD, September 25, 1806. 
Dear Sir : 

Your two favours were received together, yesterday. It is well for 
nie they were so ; for having no pretensions to poetry, either Ossianic 
or Horatian, I should have been very much at a loss how to answer 
your first, if it had come alone. I was disposed to ask m^'self how 
it was possible for you to write so fine a rhapsody on two such sub- 
jects as B and myself, until I recollected the answer of the poet 

Waller to Charles II., when asked why he had produced so superior 
an ode on the death of Cromwell, to that in which he had celebrated 
his own restoration? ''because poetry excels in fiction." But your 
last has let me down to. the tone of business, and made me feel my- 
self at home. 

I know Vogelj.he gave several lessons to Mrs. Wirt in Richmond 
and in Norfolk. I have also frequently heard him play alone, and 
can safely pronounce him the finest male performer on the piano that 

I have ever heard. But like his pi-edecessor B he is a son of 

Anacreon ; — not that his potations are either so frequent or so deep 

as poor B 's; but the ladies, his scholars in Norfolk, sometimes 

complained of neglect, which was attributed to frolics over-night. 
In Williamsburg he will have fewer temptations, and I dare say will 
do bettor. 

There is a little fellow here, by the name of , of whose skill in 

music the ladies and other connoisseurs of Bichmond speak very 
highly. But he is only about seventeen, and they tell me_(for I have 
not seen him) a perfect Adonis. I would speak to him in the man- 
ner you direct, but that I remember a novel called " jMiss Beverly," 
which I read when a boy. She is represented as the daughter of re- 
spectable parents, who, at the budding age, had a young beau intro- 
duced into the house as her music-master. Her fancy was set agog 
by him, and never rested afterwards. This to be sure is fiction, but 

it is in nature ; and I should apprehend that such a fellow as i.^ 

said to be, might put to flight the 

" Quips and cranks and playful wiles 
Nods and becks and wreathed smiles" 

of your academy, and introduce the sigh and tear of midnight in their 
place. Nevertheless, if you say so, instruct me, and I will speak to 
him. 
Vol. I. — 13 k 



146 FRANCIS W. GILMER. tl80G. 

On further recollection, there is, I think, a IMrs. C hero, who 

also teaches music. I will know with certiiinty before next week, 
and whether she will be willing to remove to Williamsbiurg, on the 
terms you propose. Ilcr answer I will deliver in person, and you 
may choose between her and Yogel. 

Poor 1> ! I am really sorry for him, for he was a harmless 

being, with as gentle a soul as any man ever had. ]Jut I dare say 
" death came like a friend to release him from pain." In the ]^]lysian 
shades he may rove and feast on harmony among spirits as gentle as 
his own, unmolested by any painful remembrance of home and the 
discordant shrieks of his Alecto. Suppose you give him an epitaph 
or a monody. 

I am much obliged to you for the concern which you express for 
my health. It was a slight touch of the ague and fever : a mere 
piece of ceremony by way of conferring on me the freedom of the city. 
It is entirely over. 

With the best wishes for your prosperity and happiness, 
I am, dear sir. 

Your friend and servant, 

Wm. Wirt. 

Francis Walker Gilmer, whom we have heretofore noticed, was 
now approaching to manhood. He had resolved to devote his studies 
to the science of medicine, and had partially entered upon that pur- 
suit. It will be seen hereafter that he found reason, at a later period 
of his life, to change this profession for the law, in which he gave the 
strongest promise of eminent success. Mr. AVirt had not so far 
alienated himself from the memory and attachments of Pen I'ark as 
to lose his interest in the family which yet inhabited there. Death 
had made his usual ravages in the family circle, but the heart of him 
who had been so tenderly fostered under that roof, lost nothing of its 
original reverence for those Avho were departed, nor of its kind solici- 
tude f )r the Avelfare of those who survived. This interest was che- 
ri.slied on both sides by fre((uent correspondence, but more particularly 
})y that with Francis, who had grown to be an especial favourite with 
his brotlier-in-law. In this letter we get some agreeable glimpses of 
Ten I'ark and its inmates. 

TO FRANCIS W. GILMER. 

Ricii.MON-i), October !)tli, ISOH. 
Mv Dkar FiiANCiri : 

Your favour of the 4th ult. came regularly to hand, and gave mo 
all the pleasure you wished and intended. It has been lying ever 



;i 



Chap. Xn.] DOCTOR GILMER. 147 

since, in the drawer of my writing-chair, waiting for an interval of 
leisure to answer it. I am sure I need not tell you what a source of 
delight it is to me, to receive these assurances that my brothers and 
sisters of Albemarle still regard mo as one of the same family, although 
sundered from them by my destiny. The misfortunes of Pen Park 
liave, indeed, scattered us all most wofully, and placed us in every 
variety of circumstances and situation. Let it be the object of the 
survivors to soften the.se misfortunes and their consequences, as well 
as they can, by cherishing for each other the most cordial affection, 
and reciprocally plucking from the path of life each thorn of care and 
sorrow as we go along. You, my dear Francis, and your brothers, 
will have a farther, and, if possible, a still sweeter office to perform. 
To raise the name of Gilmer from the tomb, and crown it with frosh 
honours. I have seen that name honoured, and highly honoured, for 
genius, science, and virtue. The recollection is very dear to my heart. 
For what is lost, I console myself with the hope that I shall live to 
see the day, when the fomily will rise to all its former reputation for 
superior endowments, both of the mind and heart; and even bloom 
with more extended and diversified honours. The genius of the 
family is not lost. I am charmed to see it inherited in such abun- 
dance, and I cannot believe that its inheritors will, for want of energy 
and enterprise, fail to replace it on the roll of fame. 

Peachy, I hear, is contributing his quota towards its restoration, 
by making very strenuous and successful exertions in Henry county. 
lie has a good deal of his father's cast of character, and, among other 
equalities, will, I think, possess the same manly and imi^ressive clo- 
cjuence for which he was remarkable. The bar will afford him a field 
for its display which his father had not. And therefore, if his exer- 
tions continue, he cannot fail to enlarge the sphere of the family dis- 
tinction on this head. You, I understand, purpose to follow your 
father's profession. The science of medicine is, I believe, said to be 
progressive, and to be daily receiving new improvements. You will 
therefore have a wide field to cultivate, and will take the profession 
on a grander scale. It will be your own fault, therefore, if you do 
notj as a physician, fill a larger space in the public eye. But the 
space which your father occupied was filled not merely by his emi- 
nence as a physician, (although he was certainly among the most 
eminent) ; he was, moreover, a good linguist, a master of botany, and 
the chemistry of his day, had a store of very correct general science, 
was a man of superior taste in the fine arts, and, to crown the whole, 
had an elevated and a noble spirit. In his manners and conversation 
he was a most accomplished gentleman ; easy and graceful in his 
movements, eloquent in speech ; in temper, gay and animated, and 
iuspiring every company with his own tone ; with wit pm-e, sparkling, 
and perennial ; and when the occasion called for it, uttering senti- 
ments of the highest dignity, and utmost force. Such was your father, 



148 ADMONITIONS. [1806. 

before disease had sapped Lis mind and constitution, and such the 
model which, as your brother, I would wish you to adopt. It will be 
a model much more easy for you to form yourself on, than any other, 
because it will be natural to you ; for, I well remember to have re- 
marked, when 3'ou were scarcely four years old, how strongly nature 
had given you the cast of your father's character. If he had lived 
and enjoyed his health until you had grown to manhood, you would 
have been his exact counterpart. Ail that you can do now is, to form 
to yourself by the descriptions of others, an exact image of your 
fither in his meridian, and even, if possible, to surpass him. 

Endeavour to cultivate that superior grace of manners which dis- 
tinguishes the gentleman from the crowd around him. In your con- 
versation, avoid a rapid and indistinct utterance, and speak delibe- 
rately and articulately. Your father was remarkable for his clear and 
distinct enunciation, and the judgment with which he placed his em- 
phasis. Blend with the natural hilarity of your temper, that dignity 
of sentiment and demeanour, which alone can prevent the wit and 
humourist from sinking into a triiler, and can give him an effective 
attitude in society. 

Get a habit, a passion for reading, not flying from book to book, 
with the squeamish caprice of a literary epicure, but according to the 
course which Mr. Robertson will prescribe to you. Read sys- 
tematically, closely, and thoughtfully ; analyzing every subject as you 
go along, and laying it up carefully and safely in your memory. It 
could have been only by this mode that your father gained so much 
correct information on such a variety of subjects. Determine with 
yourself that no application shall be wanting to lift you to the heights 
of public notice ; and, if you find your spirits and attention beginning 
to flag, think of being buried all your life in obscurity, confounded 
with the gross and ignorant herd around you. But there are yet 
more animating and more noble motives for this emulation; the 
power of doing more extensive good, by gaining a larger theatre and 
increasing the number of objects ; the pure delight of hearing one's 
self blessed for benevolent and virtuous actions ; and, as a still more 
unequivocal and rapturous proof of gratitude, " reading that blessing 
in a nation's eyes:" add to this, the communicating the beneficial 
effects of this fame to our friends and relations ; the having it in our 
power to requite past favours, and to take humble and indigent genius 
by the hand, and lead it forward to the notice of the world. These 
are a few, and but a few, of the good effects of improving one's talents 
to the highest point by careful and constant study, and aspiring to 
distinction. 

I am very much pleased with your letter. You read the classics 
with a discrimination of taste and judgment unusual at your years, 
and therefore the more honourable to you. I concur with you in 
your remarks upon the A^^neid of Virgil as well as the Odes of 



Chap. XIII.] BURR'S CONSPIRACY.' 149 

Anacreon. I am fond of a vivid picture, painted to the fancy, such 
as Virgil's storm. Anacreon, too, is thought a good describcr, in his 
way; but his way is a very bad one, and his odes can be estimated 
and enjoyed only by the debauchee who has himself rolled in the 
sensualities on which alone the genius of Anacreon seems to have 
luxuriated. I hope you will never possess this test for judging his 
merit. You will gratify me by writing to me often, and if you will 
allow me to write to you like an elder brother, who would wish you 
to profit by his own experience, and to attain all those honours which 
he has missed, you shall hear from me as often as I can find a leisure 
hour. My love to our brothers and sisters when you see them. Let 
me be remembered to Mr. and ]Mrs. Meriwether and JMr. R. Robert- 
son ; all of whom I very much esteem. 

Your friend and brother, 

Wm. Wirt. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

1807. 

AARON BURR BROUGHT TO RICHMOND. — INDICTED TOR TREASON. — 

WIRT RETAINED AS COUNSEL BY THE GOVERNMENT. THE 

TRIAL. SOME OP ITS INCIDENTS. — THE ASPERITY OF COUN- 
SEL. — EXTRACTS OP THE ARGUMENT. 

The year 1807 is memorable in the life of Wirt as the year of the 
trial of Aaron Burr. 

Burr's conspiracy is one of the most extraordinary incidents con- 
nected with the history of this country. Whether it were the mere 
dream of a bold, ambitious and wicked citizen, or his meditated and 
prepared enterprise, enough has been brought to light, in the investi- 
gation of that incident, to excite the amazement of every one, that a 
man so eminent, so gifted with splendid talents, and so able to appre- 
ciate the character and temper of the American people, should have 
permitted himself to fiill into the infatuation of even an idle specu- 
lation upon his power to accomplish what, from all the evidence 
which has been divulged, we are hardly at liberty to disbelieve was 
his purpose. 
13* 



150 BURR'S CONSPIRACY. ['.807. 

It seems certain that Burr entertained some visionary notion of his 
ability to produce a revolution in tlie government at the Capital ; that , 
he talked familiarly of espelling the President ; and, with no more 
than "the Marine Corps" at Washington, of driving, if need were, 
the Congress " into the Potomac." That he abandoned this project 
for one which he supposed more practicable — the separation of the 
Union and the erection of a Western Confederacy beyond the Alle- 
gany. That finding this, upon more mature reflection, somewhat too 
arduous for his means, he finally sought the gratification of his restless 
and too prurient desire of fame, in a scheme to invade Mexico and 
make himself master of those fair domains. 

The ill-will engendered, particularly throughout the Southern 
States, against Spain, by her offensive policy in regard to the navi- 
gation of the Mississippi, and her still more offensive proceedings 
afterwards, and the constant expectation of a collision with that 
power, furnished a basis for this scheme of Burr's, which gave it a 
substantial aspect, and brought it within the category of things of 
probable accomplishment. The other schemes were but the madness 
of the moon, in comparison. 

Mr. Jefferson had, with most commendable caution and address, 
though not without great difficulty, restrained the exasperated spirit 
of our people from an assault upon the Spanish provinces beyond the 
Mississippi; — an assault which would, at that day, have anticipated - 
the brilliant achievements which have recently placed an American 
army in the ancient city of Mexico. Then, as now, it would only 
have been necessary for the government to give permission to the 
thousands and tens of thousands who find in war a pastime and a 
pi'ofit, to have overrun Mexico with the force of a torrent. 

"No better proof," says Mr. Jefferson, in a letter to Mr. Bowdoin, 
" of the good faith of the United States could have been given, than 
the vigour with which we have acted, and the expense incurred, in 
suppressing the enterprise meditated lately by Burr against Mexico. 
Although, at first, he proposed a separation of the Western country, 
and on that ground received encouragement and aid from Yrujo, 
according to the usual spirit of his government towards us, yet he 
very early saw that the fidelity of the Western country was not to be 
shaken, and turned himself wholly towards Mexico. And so popular 



Chap. XIII.] HIS ARREST. 151 

is an enterprise on that country in this, that loe had only to lie stilly 
and he would have had followers enough to have been in the city of 
Mexico in six weeks." 

In a letter, afterwards, to La Fayette, he remarked, '' nothing has 
ever so strongly proved the innate force of our form of government 
as this conspiracy. Burr had probably engaged one thousand men to 
follow his fortunes, without letting them know his projects, otherwise 
than by assuring them the government approved of them. The mo- 
ment a proclamation was issued, undeceiving them, he found himself 
left with about thirty desperadoes only. The people rose in mass 
wherever he was, or was suspected to be, and, by their own energy, 
the thing was crushed in one instant, without its having been neces- 
sary to employ a man of the military, but to take care of their respec- 
tive stations. His fii-st enterprise was to have been to seize New 
Orleans, which he supposed would powerfully bridle the upper 
country, and place him at the door of Mexico. It is with pleasure I 
inform you that not a single native Creole, and but one American, 
of those settled there before we received the place, took any part with 
him. His partisans were the new emigrants from the United States 
and elsewhere, fugitives from justice or debt, and adventurers and 
speculators of all descriptions." 

Burr had been arrested in January, on the Mississippi ; had been 
subjected to an examination at Washington, in Mississippi Territory, 
and detained in custody to be sent to the capital of the United States. 
He had escaped from this custody, and was soon afterwards arrested 
near Fort Stoddard on the Tombigbee, making his way to Mobile. 
Upon this he was conducted to Richmond, to be tried on a charge of 
high treason. He arrived here on the 26th of March. Wirt was 
then in Williamsburg. A letter from him to his wife, on the 20th, 
alludes to the fact of Burr's expected trial. "^ 

" Your letter gave me the first tidings of the apprehension of Burr, 
and his being sent to Bichmond. This was news indeed. Since I 
came here this evening, I understand he arrived in Bichmond on 
Thursday night, in the same disguise in which he was apprehended ; 
and, farther, that he has engaged Bandolph and Wickham in his de- 
fence. I should not be much surprised if he is discharged on a peti- 
tion to the judge, or let to bail, and make his escape again. If the 



152 PUT UPON HIS TRIAL. [1807. 

man is really innocent, these persecutions will put the devil in his 
head, unless he is more than man in magnanimity." 

The primary examination of the prisoner was made before Chief 
'Justice Marshall, on the 30th and 31st of March. This was con- 
ducted by Caesar A. Rodney, the Attorney-General of the United 
States, and George Hay, the Attorney for the District of Virginia ; 
JMessrs. Wickham and Randolph appearing for Burr. The result 
was, a commitment upon the charge of a misdemeanour in setting on 
foot a military expedition against the dominions of the King of 
Spain, — the court refusing to include in the commitment the charge 
of treason which had been urged by the counsel for the United 
States. ! 

Colonel Burr was in consequence admitted to bail upon a recog- 
nizance to appear in the Circuit Court at its next term on the 22d of 
May. 

The case was again taken up at the appointed day, the Chief Jus- 
tice and Judge Griffin presiding in the court. Colonel Burr now 
appeared with two additional covmsel, Messrs. Botts and Baker. On 
the part of the prosecution, Mr. Rodney having withdrawn, Mr. Hay 
was assisted by Mr. Wirt and Mr. MacRaej 

A grand jury, consisting of some of the most eminent citizens of 
Virginia, with John Randolph of Roanoke, as the foreman, was sworn 
on that day. After several adjournments and many protracted dis- 
cussions between the counsel, upon the nature of the evidence to be 
submitted to them, and on other collateral topics, the grand jury 
finally, on the 24th of June, brought in indictments, both for treason 
and misdemeanour, against Aaron Burr and Herman Blennerhasset, 
which were followed, in two days, by similar indictments against 
Jonathan Dayton, John Smith, Comfort Tyler, Israel Smith and 
Davis Floyd. 

Colonel Burr, on the same day that these last indictments were 
presented, pleaded not guilty, and the trial was postponed until the 
8d of August. 

Without saying more, at present, as to the incidents of the trial, 
or making any reference to the facts brought into proof, or the points 
of law discussed, it will be sufficient to note that a most elaborate 
and profound opinion was delivered ])y the Chief Justice, which ex- 



Chap. XIII.] HIS REFLECTIONS UPON IT. ' 153 

eluded from the case, as it was affirmed, a large amount of testimony 
which might have shown Burr's intentions, and thus, on the 1st of 
September, put an end to the trial on the indictment for treason. The 
verdict was : " We of the jury say that Aaron Burr is not proved to 
bo guilty under this indictment, by any evidence submitted to us. 
We therefore find him not guilty." 

The indictment for the misdemeanour, met the same fate. The 
opinion of the court, in that case, excluded the testimony relied on, 
and the jury again found a verdict of not guilty. 

Upon this, the traverser was committed and held to bail, to answer 
in Ohio, on the charge of setting on foot and providing the means for 
a military expedition against the territories of Spain. 

In a letter of Colonel Burr's, to his daughter, dated October 23, 
1807, we find the following notice of the event : 

" After all, this is a drawn battle. The Chief Justice gave his 
opinion on Tuesday. After declaring that there were no grounds of 
suspicion, as to the treason, he directed that Burr and Blennerhasset 
should give bail in three thousand dollars, for further trial in Ohio. 
The opinion was a matter of regret and surprise to the friends of the 
Chief Justice, and of ridicule to his enemies, — all believing that it 
was a sacrifice of principle to conciliate Jack Cade. Mr. Hay im- 
mediately said that he should advise the government to desist from fur- 
ther prosecution. That he has actually so advised, there is no doubt." 

The conduct of Burr, throughout the trial, was in keeping with this 
insinuation against the firmness and integrity of Chief Justice Mar- 
shall. There is apparent, in his demeanour, during the trial and 
before it, an afiectation of innocence, which, under the circumstances, 
idraost_partakes ,of insolent defiance, and which very significantly 
accords with the bold and confident character of his whole scheme. 
He seems to have regarded his enterprise almost as an act of benefi- 
cence to the country, and the attempt to arrest it, as somewhat in the 
light of insult and persecution. " You have read to very little pur- 
pose," he says, in a letter to his daughter, during the pendency of the 
trial, " if you have not remarked that such things happen in all demo- 
cratic governments. Was there in Greece or Rome, a man of virtue 
and independence, and supposed to possess great talents, who was not 
the object of vindictive and unrelenting persecution?" 



154 INCIDENTS QF THE TRIAL. [1S07. 

And again, 

" I want an independent and discerning witness to my conduct, and 
to tbat of the government. The scenes Vi^hich have passed, and those 
about to be transacted, will exceed all reasonable credibility, and will 
hereafter be deemed fables, unless attested by^ very high authority." 

These are cui'ious revelations of feeling, in contrast with the facts 
divulged upon the trial. Judge Marshall, — whose opinions in this 
case were, like all the other exhibitions of his judicial character, 
fraught with the calm and impartial spirit of justice itself, and distin- 
guished for their legal shrewdness and depth, — did not escape some 
animadversions from the side of the government, as well as this of the 
prisoner ; but the country has not failed to render full honour to the 
purity, as well as the wisdom, of the mind which guided the issues of 
this celebrated trial. 

We come now to present some of the leading features of the case, 
so far as Wirt's participation in it may be of interest. In doing this 
I shall make a few extracts from his speeches, by no means designing 
to fatigue the reader with a detail either of the fects or the law of the 
case, which, indeed, may only be properly understood by a reference 
to the trial itself. But as Wirt obtained by his labours in this trial 
a large increase of populai-ity, both at the bar and with the country, 
it will not be considered as inappropriate to the subject before us, to 
cull from the report of it such passages or incidents as may be char- 
acteristic of the counsel whose name has become so favourably con- 
nected with it. 

The trial was remarkable for the asperity with which it was con- 
ducted on both sides. Almost in the first stage of its progress, the 
court was obliged to comment upon the temper displayed by counsel. 

An application was made by Col. Burr for a subpoena to the Presi- 
dent of the United States, with a clause requiring him to produce a 
letter which he had received from Gen. Wilkinson, dated 21 October, 
1806 ; and also to produce copies of certain orders which had been . 
issued by the government relative to the arrest. 

This application was resisted on one ground, amongst others, thatt 
the relevancy or materiality of the papers referred to was not shown, 
• — the affidavit in the case being " that the said letter may be mate- 
rial" to the defence. A long debate ensued. 



Chap. XIII.] AN ARGUxMENT. 155 

Mr. Wirt said, in the course of this debate — '^ We do not deny 
that a subpoena may be issued to summon the President, and that he 
is as amenable to that process as any other citizen. 

* * I shall show that the suhposna duces tecum is 

not a process of right, but that the application is addressed to the 
discretion of the court — 

" Mr Wickiiam. — This is admitted. 

"v,Mr. Wirt. — I thank you for the admission. You have relieved 
me from the unnecessary trouble of so much of my argument. The 
question then is, by what circumstances should that discretion be con- 
trolled ? Should it be by the mere wish of the prisoner ? If so, it 
is in vain that the court possesses any discretion on the subject. The 
prisoner has but to ask and have. Consider this wide and bold doc- 
trine on the ground of expediency. Would you summon any private 
individual, from the remotest part of the United States, to produce 
a paper on the mere wish of the jmsoner, without defining the paper, 
and showing how it bore on his defence ? If you would, you put the 
pursuits and the peace of every individual in the United States at the 
mercy of the prisoner's caprice and resentments. This argument from 
inconvenience assumes au attitude of most awful and alarming import- 
ance, when you extend it to a case like this before the court. A pri- 
soner has seldom any cordial amity for the government by which he 
is prosecuted for a crime. The truth is, he feels himself in a state 
of war with that government, and the more desperate his case, the 
more ardent will be his spirit of revenge. Would you expose the 
offices of state to be ravaged at the mere pleasure of a prisoner, who, 
if he feels that he must fall, would pant for nothing more anxiously 
I than * to grace his fall and make his ruin glorious,' by dragging down 
with him the bright and splendid edifice of the government ? Sir, 
if Aaron Burr has the right, at his mere wish, to call one paper from 
the government, he has the same right to call any other ; and so, one 
after another, might divulge every document and secret of state, how- 
ever delicate our foreign relations might be, and however ruinous the 
disclosure to the honour and prosperity of the country. 
, " It is much to be wished that a rule could be devised which, 
while it would protect the rights of the prisoner, should also protect 
the public offices from being wantonly and unnecessarily violated. I 



156 AN ARGUMENT. l1807. . 

think there is such a rule. It is this : By requiriug that the prisoner, , 
who calls for a paper, should show that the paper applies to his case s 
and is requisite for his defence. When he shall have done this, I hold i 
that he is entitled to call for any paper. It will then rest with the > 
President of the United States, the officer appointed by the people to < 
watch over the national safety, to say whether that safety will be en- ■ 
dangered by divulging the paper. 

5l» 5j-. ^i rj% 3ji 5]i t^ 

" Again, sir. I have never seen or heard of an instance of this 
process being required to bring forward any paper, but where such a 
paper was in its nature evidence, for which either party had an equal 
right to call, and to use it when produced. But it is obvious that, in 
this case and in the present state of things, we could not use the let- 
ter of General Wilkinson as evidence ; although the opposite party 
should obtain his subpoena duces tecum for this paper, and would seem 
thereby to have made it evidence, and introduced it iuto the cause. 
Yet after it comes we cannot use it : hence there is no reciprocity in it. 
The paper is not, at present, evidence, and therefore is not within the 
principle on which this process is awarded. One more remark on this 
letter, and I have done with it. I am no more an advocate for the 
needless multiplication of state secrets, than the gentleman who has 
preceded me. It looks too much like the mysteries of monarchy ; 
and I hate monarchy with all its mysteries, as I do the mysterious 
movements of those who are lovers of monarchy. Yet it is obvious, 
that there may be cases in which the very safety of the state may 
depend on concealing the views and operations of the government. 
I will instance this very letter. I do not know what it contains ; but 
it is from the general who commands on the Spanish frontier. That 
the state of our aflFairs was and is, with Spain, not the most amicable ' 
is well understood. We know that our affairs in that quarter wear, 
even at this time, the most lowering aspect. Suppose this letter 
should contain a scheme of war, a project of attack, — would it be 
proper to divulge and proclaim it even to Spain herself? If the let- 
ter contains such a thing, I have no doubt that the President ought 
to and will conceal at least so much of it. This, however, will be a 
question with him, when the paper shall be called for ; and a question 
which he alone is competent to decide. 



Chap. XIII.] PRELIMINARY DISCUSSION. 157 

" I cannot take my seat, sir, without expressing my deep and sin- 
cere sorrow at the policy which the gentlemen in the defence have 
thought it necessary to adopt. As to Mr. Martin, I should have been 
willing to impute this fervid language to the sympathies and resent- 
ments of that friendship which he has taken such frequent occasions 
to express for the prisoner, his honourable friend. In the cause of 
friendship I can pardon zeal even up to the point of intemperance ; 
but the truth is, sir, that before IMr. IMartin came to Richmond, this 
policy was settled ; and on every question incidentally brought before 
the court, we were stunned with invectives against the administration. 
I appeal to your recollection, sir, whether this policy was not mani- 
fested even so early as in those new and until now unheard of chal- 
lenges to the grand jury for favour. Whether that policy was not 
followed up with increased spirit, in the very first speeches which 
were made in this case; those of Mr. Botts and Mr. Wickham on 
their previous question pending the attorney's motion to commit? 
Whether they have not seized with avidity every subsequent occasion^ 
and on every mere question of abstract law before the court, flew off 
at a tangent from the subject, to launch into declamations against the 
government? Exhibiting the prisoner continually as a persecuted 
patriot : a Russell or a Sidney, bleeding under the scourge of a despot, 
and dying for virtue's sake ! If there be any truth in the charges 
against him, how different were the purposes of his soul from those 
of a Russell or a Sidney ! I beg to know what gentlemen can intend, 
expect, or hope, from these j^erpetual philippics against the govern- 
ment ? Do they flatter themselves that this court feel political pre- 
judices which will supply the place of arg-ument and innocence on 
the part of the prisoner ? Their conduct amounts to an insinuation 
of the sort. But I do not believe it. On the contrary, I feel the 
firm and pleasing assurance, that as to the court, the beam of their 
judgment will remain steady, although the earth itself should shake 
under the concussion of prejudice. Or is it on the bystanders that 
the gentlemen expect to make a favourable impression ? And do 
they use the court merely as a canal, through which they may pour 
upon the world their undeserved invectives against the government ? 
Do they wish to divide the popular resentment, and diminish thereby 
their own quota ? Before the gentlemen arraign the administration, 
Vol. I. — 14 



158 PRELIMINARY DISCUSSION. [1807. 

let them clear the skirts of their client. Let thera prove his inno- 
cence ; let them prove that he has not covered himself with the clouds 
of mystery and just suspicion ; let them prove that he has been all 
along erect and fair, in open day, and that these charges against him 
are totally groundless and false. That will be the most eloquent in- 
vective which they can pronounce against the prosecution; but until 
they prove this innocence, it shall be in vain that they attempt to 
divert our minds to other objects, and other inquiries. We will keep 
our eyes on Aaron Burr, until he satisfies our utmost scruple. I beg 
to know, sir, if the course which gentlemen pursue is not disrespect- 
ful to the court itself? Suppose there are any foreigners here, accus- 
tomed to regular government in their own country, what can they 
infer from hearing the federal administration thus reviled to the fede- 
ral judiciary? Hearing the judiciary told, that the administration 
are ' blood-hounds, hunting this man with a keen and savage thirst 
for blood ; that they now suppose they have hunted him into their 
toils, and have him safe.' Sir, no man, foreigner or citizen, who 
hears this language addressed to the court, and received with all the 
complacency at least which silence can imply, can make any inferences 
from it very honourable to the court. It would only be inferred, 
while they are thus suffered to luxuriate in these gross invectives 
against the administration, that they are furnishing the joys of a Ma- 
hometan paradise to the court as well as to their client. I hope that 
the court, for their own sakes, will compel a decent respect to that 
government of which they themselves form a branch. On our part, 
we wish only a fair trial of this case. If the man be innocent, in 
the name of God let him go ; but while we are on the question of 
his guilt or innocence, let us not suifer our attention and judgment 
to be diverted and distracted by the introduction of other subjects 
foreign to the inquiry." 

* >i: :i: * 5jc * # 

" Mr. Wickiiam appealed to the court if the counsel for Colonel 
Burr had been the first to begin the attack, and wished the gentleman 
to follow his own wise maxims. 

" All that Colonel Burr is obliged to show, is probable cause to 
believe that Wilkinson's letter may be material. Mr. Wirt has said, 



Chap. XIII.] ASPERITIES OF COUNSEL. 159 

that the acquittal of Colonel Burr will be a satire on the government. 
I am sorry that the gentleman has made this confession, that the 
character of the government depends on the guilt of Colonel Burr. 
If I believed him to be correct, I could easily explain, from that cir- 
cumstance, the anxiety manifested to com^ict him, and the prejudices 
■which have been excited against him. But I will not believe that 
this is the case, and will tell the gentleman that we think Burr may 
be acquitted, and yet the government have pure intentions. 

" The writ of subpoena duces tecum ought to be issued, and if there 
be any state secrets to prevent the production of the letter, the Presi- 
dent should allege it in his return ; for, at px-esent, we cannot know 
that any such secrets exist. The court, when his return is before 
them, can judge of the cause assigned. But I have too good an 
opinion of the President to think he would withhold the letter. 

^ * ^ :}: ^ Jj; * 

" We contend that no affidavit on the part of Colonel Burr is neces- 
sary. Wilkinson's affidavit, already published, together with the 
President's communication to Congress, prove that the letter in 
question must be material. It may show that the treasonable tran- 
sactions attributed to Colonel Burr, within the limits of this state, 
never existed ; for, as to Blennerhassct's island, the gentlemen in the 
prosecution know there was no such thing as a military force on that 
island. 

[" Here Mr. Hay interrupted him, and said that it was extremely 
indelicate and improper to accuse them of voluntarily supporting a 
cause which they knew to be unjust. He solemnly denied the truth 
of the charge against him and the gentleman who assisted him, and 
declared that they could prove the actual existence of an armed 
assemblage of men on Blennerhassct's island, under the command of 
Aaron Burr.] 

" ]Mr. Wickham acknowledged that he had gone too far in the 
expression he had used, and ought not to have uttered what he had 
said concerning the counsel for the United States, and declared that 
he meant nothing personal against them." 

Upon the conchision of Mr. Wickham's speech, the Chief Justice 
remarked, " that although many observations, in the course of the 
several discussions which had taken place, had been made by the 



IGO MR. HAY AND MR. MARTIN. L1807. 

gentlemen of the bar, in the heat of debate, of vfhich the court did 
not approve, yet the court had hitherto avoided interfering ; but, as a 
pointed appeal had been made to them on this day (alluding to the 
speech of ]Mr. Wirt), and they had been called upon to support their 
own dignity by preventing the government from being abused, the 
court thought it joroper to declare that the gentlemen on both sides 
had acted improperly in the style and spirit of their remarks ; that 
they had been to blame in endeavouring to excite the prejudices of the 
people ; and had repeatedly accused each other of doing what they 
forget they have done themselves The court therefore expressed a 
wish that the counsel for the United States and for Colonel Burr 
would confine themselves, on every occasion, to the point really before 
the court ; that their own good sense and regard for their characters 
required them to follow such a course ; and it was hoped that they 
would not hereafter deviate from it." 

Mr. Hay, referring to the orders of the government for the sup- 
pi-ession of Burr's expedition, which were called for, in connection 
with the letter of General Wilkinson, remarked : 

" They next contend that the orders are material, because they 
were illegal, arbitrary, unconstitutional, oppressive, and unjust; that 
Burr's acts were merely acts of self-defence against tyranny and 
usurpation, and, of course, were justifiable. 

" Many strange positions have been laid down, but this is mon- 
strous. Mr. Martin will excuse me for saying that I expected 
sounder doctrine from his age and experience. These principles were 
not learnt by him in Maryland, nor are they the doctrines of this 
place. Considering that he has come all the way from Maryland to 
enlighten us of the "Virginia bar by his great talents and erudition, I 
hoped he would not have advanced a doctrine vf hich would have been 
aliliorrcd, even in the most turbulent period of the French revolution, 
by the Jacobins of 1794." 

From Luther INIartin's argument wo extract a portion of his reply 
to Mr. Hay : 

"The gentleman has told us," he said, "that respect ought to be 
paid to the officers of government. It is granted. I thought so once. 
I thought that the officers of government ought to be treated with 
high respect, however much their conduct ought to be the subject of 



Chap. XIII] MR. HAY AND MR. MARTIN. 161 

criticism ; and I invariably acted according to that principle. If I 
have changed my opinion, I owe it to the gentleman himself, and the 
party he is connected with. They formerly thought differently. That 
gentleman and his friends so loudly and incessantly clamoured against 
the officers of government, that they contributed to effect a change in 
the administration, and are now, in consequence, basking in the sun- 
shine of office ; and therefore they wish to inculcate and receive that 
respect which they formerly denied to others in the same situation. 
We have a right to inspect the orders issued from the War and Navy 
Departments ; because, if they were illegal, we had a right to oppose 
them. If they were unconstitutional and oppressive, it was right to 
resist them : but this is denied, because we are not trying the Presi- 
dent. God forbid we should ! But we are trying if we had a right 
to resist. If every order, however arbitrary and unjust, is to be obeyed, 
we are slaves as much as the inhabitants of Turkey. If the presiden- 
tial edicts are to be the supreme law, and the officers of the govern- 
ment have but to register them, as formerly in France, (the country 
once so ftimed by these gentlemen for its progress and advancement 
towards liberty;) and if we must submit to them, however unjust and 
unconstitutional, we are as subject to despotism as the people of Tui-- 
key, the subjects of the " Grand Monarque" of old in France, or those 
of the despot Bonaparte at this day. If this were true, where would 
be our boasted freedom ? where the superior advantages of our govern- 
ment, or the beneficial effects of our revolutionary struggles ? I will 
take the liberty of explaining how far resistance is justifiable. The 
President has certain known and well-defined powers ; so has a com- 
mon magistrate, and so has a constable. The President may exceed 
his legal authority, as well as a magistrate or a constable. If a ma- 
gistrate issue a warrant and direct it to a constable, resistance to it is 
at the peril of the person resisting. If the warrant be illegal, he is 
excused ; but if it be legal, he is not. On the same principle, resist- 
ance to the orders of the President is excusable, if they be unconstitu- 
tional and illegal. Resistance to an act of oppression, unauthorised 
by law, can never be criminal ; and this is all we contend for." 
■'r ^;- -^ -;;- -X- * 

''The gentleman expressed'his surprise that such doctrines should 
come from me, who come from jMaryland to instruct and enlighten 
14 * L 



162 OPINION OF THE COURT. [1807. 

tlie Virginia bar. I come not to instruct and enligliten. I come to 
unite my feeble efforts with those of other gentlemen in defence of 
my friend, whom I believe to be perfectly innocent of the heavy 
charges against him ; but their conduct evinces, that if I were to at- 
tempt it, my instructions would be in vain. If, however, I did ven- 
ture to advise him, it would be, not to accuse us of evil intentions ; 
to mix a little of the milk of human nature with his disposition and 
arguments; to make his conduct conformable to his professions, and 
not to be perpetually imputing guilt to vis. But the gentleman needs 
no advice.^' 

The opinion of Chief Justice Marshall upon the questions submit- 
ted in this debate, thus disposes of the principal point under dis- 
cussion : — 

"The second objection is, that the letter contains matter which 
ought not to be disclosed. 

" That there may be matter, the jiroduction of which the court 
would not require, is certain ; but that, in a capital case, the accused 
ought, in some form, to have the benefit of it, if it were really essen- 
tial to his defence, is a position which the court would very reluctantly 
deny. It ought not to be believed, that the department which super- 
intends prosecutions in criminal cases would be inclined to withhold 
it. What ought to be done, under such circumstances, presents a 
delicate question, the discussion of which, it is hoped, will never be 
rendered necessary in this country. At present it need only be said, 
that the question does not occur at this time. There is certainly no- 
thing before the court which shows that the letter in question contains 
any matter, the disclosm-e of which would endanger the public safety. 
If it does contain such matter, the fact may appear before the disclo- 
sure is made. If it does contain any matter which it would be impru- 
dent to disclose, which it is not the wish of the executive to disclose, 
such matter, if it be not immediately and essentially applicable to the 
point, will of com'se be suppressed. It is not easy to conceive that so 
much of the letter as relates to the conduct of the a,ccused can be a 
subject of delicacy with the President. Every thing of this kind, 
however, will have its due consideration, on the return of the sub- 
poena." 

****** 



Chap. XIII.] OPINION OF THE COURT. 163 

• " Much has been said about the disrespect to the chief magistrate, 
which is implied by this motion, and by such a decision of it as the 
law is believed to require. 

" These observations will be very truly answered by the declaration, 
that this court feels many, perhaps peculiar motives, for manifesting 
as guarded a respect for the chief magistrate of the Union as is com- 
patible with its official duties. To go beyond these would exhibit a 
conduct which would deserve some other appellation than the term 
respect. 

" It is not for the court to anticipate the event of the present pro- 
secution. Should it terminate as is expected on the part of the United 
States, all those who are concerned in it should certainly regret that 
a paper, which the accused believed to be essential to his defence, 
which may, for aught that now appears, be essential, had been with- 
held from him. I will not say that this circumstance would, in any 
degree, tarnish the reputation of the government ', but I will say, that 
it would justly tarnish the reputation of the court which had given its 
sanction to its being withheld. Might I be permitted to utter one 
sentiment with respect to myself, it would be to deplore, most earn- 
estly, the occasion which should compel me to look back on any part 
of my official conduct with so much self-reproach as I should feel, 
could I declare, on the information now possessed, that the accused is 
not entitled to the letter in question, if it should be really important 
to him. 

" The propriety of requiring the answer to this letter is more ques- 
tionable. It is alleged, that it most probably communicates orders 
showing the situation of this country with Spain, which will be im- 
portant on the misdemeanour. If it contain matter not essential to the 
defence, and the disclosure be unpleasant to the executive, it certainly 
ought not to be disclosed. This is a point which will appear on the 
retm-n. The demand of the orders which have been issued, and which 
have been, as is alleged, published in the Natchez Gazette, is by no 
means unusual. Such documents have often been produced in the 
courts of the United States and the courts of England. If they con- 
tain matter interesting to the nation, the concealment of which is re- 
quired by the public safety, that matter will appear upon the return. 
If they do not, and are material, they may be exhibited." 



164 RIGHT TO PUBLIC PAPERS. [1807. 

This decision seems, with some qualification, to conform with the 
views of- Mr. Jefferson, as expressed upon this proceeding in his letter 
to Mr. Hay, in which, after proffering his readiness to supply the 
letter in question, and all other matters alleged to be necessary to the 
defence, he remarks : 

" With respect to papers, there is certainly a public and a private 
side to our oflSces. To the former belong grants of land, patents for 
inventions, certain commissions, proclamations, and other papers patent 
in their nature. To the other belong mere executive proceedings. 
All nations have found it necessary that, for the advantageous conduct 
of their affairs, some of these proceedings, at least, should remain 
known to their executive functionary only. He, of course, from the 
nature of the case, must be the sole judge of which of them the public 
interests will permit publication. Hence, under our Constitution, in 
requests of papers from the legislative to the executive branch, an 
exception is carefully expressed, as to those which he may deem the 
public welfare may require not to be disclosed ; as you will see in the 
enclosed resolution of the House of Kepresentatives, which produced 
the message of January 22d, respecting this case. The respect natu- 
rally due between the constituted authorities, in their official inter- 
course, as well as sincere dispositions to do for every one what is just, 
will always insure from the executive, in exercising the duty of dis- 
crimination confided to him, the same candour and integrity to which 
the nation has, in like manner, trusted in the disposal of its judiciary 
authorities." 

This brief summary of a discussion, in the year 1807, presents a 
topic upon which much doubt has often been expressed in the Con- 
gress of the United States, and has sometimes been debated with no 
little acrimony — the extent of the right and the duty of the President 
to withhold information demanded by either house of Congress. The 
decision of the court, of which an extract is given in this notice of the 
trial, and Mr. Jefferson's strictures upon the relative duties of the 
legislature and the executive, seem to present the question in a point 
of view which should lead to a just and definitive limitation of the 
boundaries by which each is properly cu-cumscribed. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

1807. 

burr's trial continued. — THE PRINCIPAL ARGUMENT IN THE 
CASE. NOTICES OP WIRT's SHARE IN IT. MR. MERGER'S TESTI- 
MONY. HIS DESCRIPTION OP BLENNERHASSET's RESIDENCE. — 

OTHER INCIDENTS OP THE TRIAL. 

The trial proceeded through its preliminary stages, in which every 
question, capable of being raised, was presented and contested with 
scrupulous pertinacity and with abundance of acrimony. At length 
the two indictments were found; — the fii'st, for treason, the second, 
for the misdemeanour. The case of treason was first taken up ; the 
plea of not guilty made, and, after many challenges and rejections of 
those who had been summoned on the petit jury, a panel was obtained. 
New points, as to the order of examining the witnesses, were mooted 
and argued at every step, with the same asperity as before. Much 
testimony was delivered on the part of the prosecution. The charge 
of treason was supposed, by the counsel for the government, to be 
sustained by the evidence. This evidence proved that numbers of 
persons, amounting to some thirty or more, had assembled in warlike 
array, on Blennerhasset's island, in the Ohio river, near Marietta, in 
December 1806, with a purpose, as it was affirmed, to proceed down 
the river, and, with the assistance of others, to seize the city of New 
Orleans, under the pretence of the ultimate invasion of Mexico. It 
was not proved, however, that Colonel Burr was present with these 
men on the island. 

Upon this testimony the counsel for the prisoner asked the interpo- 
sition of the court, to arrest the further examination of witnesses, on 
the following ground, as stated by IMr. Wickham. 

'' The counsel for the prosecution having gone through their evi- 
dence relating directly to the overt act charged in the indictment, and 
being about to introduce collateral testimony of acts done beyond the 

(165) 



166 BURR'S TRIAL CONTINUED. [1807. 

limits of the jurisdiction of this court, and, it not only appearing from 
the proofs, but being distinct!}' admitted, that the accused, at the 
period when the "war was said to have been levied against the United 
States, was hundreds of miles distant from the scene of action, it be- 
comes the duty of his counsel to object to the introduction of any 
such testimony as wholly irrelevant and inadmissible." Upon this 
motion of the prisoner's counsel arose the great and decisive argument 
in the case. 

The discussion chiefly turned on the proposition suggested by Mr. 
Wickham, — " That no person can be convicted of treason in levying 
war, who was not personally present at the commission of the act 
charged in the indictment as constituting the offence." 

There were other questions of less significance in the case, which 
were also argued with great amplitude and labour. " Whether there 
can be treason in levying war without the employment of force." 
" Whether one who would be only an accessory in a felony, is to be 
considered as a principal in treason by levying war." "And if so, 
whether the real principal ought not first to be convicted." These 
points and others were debated. 

I have already intimated that it is not my design to furnish even 
an outline of this case ; that my purpose is to submit only so much 
of it to the reader, as may give him some characteristic indications of 
Mr. Wirt's efforts towards the performance of the duty it imposed 
upon him. In the pursuit of this purpose, I shall continue to make 
some extracts from his argument upon the points now presented. 
This discussioa was conducted with full preparation and study by all 
the counsel in the case, and as it was of a nature to determine the 
issue of the prosecution, it attracted a proportionate degree of interest 
from the public. 

The extracts from Mr. Wirt's speech which follow, are made 
sparsim, and without reference to a continuous or connected view of 
his topics : they are offered as specimens of manner, and illustrations 
of modes of thought, and with no view to an exhibition of the general 
force of the argument, which, indeed, could not be abbreviated with- 
out doing injustice to the speaker. 

"It is my duty," said Mr. Wirt, in the commencement of his 
speech, " to proceed on the part of the United States, in opposing 



Chap. XIV.] WIRT'S SPEECH. 167 

this motion. But I should not deem it my duty to oppose it, if it 
were founded on correct principles. I stand here with the same in- 
dependence of action which belongs to the Attorney of the United 
States ; and as he would certainly relinquish the prosecution the mo- 
ment he became convinced of its injustice, so also most certainly 
would I. The humanity and justice of this nation would revolt at 
the idea of a prosecution, pushed on against a life, which stood pro- 
tected by the laws ; but whether they would or not, I would not plant 
a thorn, to rankle for life in my heart, by opening my lips in support 
of a i^rosecution which I felt and believed to be unjust. But believ- 
ino-, as I do, that this motion is not founded in justice, that it is a 
mere manoeuvre to obstruct the inquiry, to turn it from the proper 
course, to wrest the trial of the facts from the proper tribunal, the 
jury, and embarrass the court with a responsibility which it ought 
not to feel, 1 hold it my duty to proceed for the sake of the court, for 
the sake of vindicating the trial by jury, now sough't to be violated, 
for the sake of full and ample justice in this particular case, for the 
sake of the future peace, union and independence of these states, I 
feel it my bounden duty to proceed ; in doing which, I beg that the 
prisoner and his counsel will recollect the extreme difficulty of clothing 
my argument in terms which may be congenial with their feelings. 
The gentlemen appear to me to feel a very extraordinary and unrea- 
sonable degree of sensibility on this occasion. They seem to forget 
the nature of the charge, and that we are the prosecutors. We do 
not stand here to pronounce a panegyric on the prisoner, but to urge 
on him the crime of treason against his country. When we vSpcak of 
treason, we must call it treason. When we speak of a traitor, we 
must call him a traitor. When we speak of a plot to dismember the 
Union, to undermine the liberties of a great portion of the people of 
this country, and subject them to a usurper and a despot, we are 
obliged to use the terms which convey those ideas. Why then are 
gentlemen so sensitive ? Why on these occasions, so necessary, so 
anavoidable, do they shrink back with so much agony of nerve, as if 
instead of a hall of justice, we were in a drawing-room with Colonel 
Burr, and were barbarously violating towards him every principle of 
decorum and humanity ? 

'' Mr. Wickham has indeed invited us to consider the subject ab- 
stractedly ; and we have been told that it is expected to be so considered ; 
but, sir, if this were practicable, would there be no danger in it ? 
Would there be no danger, while we were mooting points, pursuing inge- 
nious hypotheses, chasing elementary principles over the wide extended 
plains and Alpine heights of abstracted law, that we should lose sight 
of the great question before the court ? This may suit the purposes 
of the coimsel for the prisoner ; but it does not therefore necessarily 
suit the purposes of truth and justice. It will be proper, when we 
have derived a principle from law or argument, that we should bring 



168 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1807. 

it to the case before the court, in order to test its application and its 
practical truth. lu doing which, we are driven into the nature of the 
case, and must speak of it as we find it. But besides, the gentlemen 
have themselves rendered this totally abstracted argument completely 
impossible, for one of their positions is, that there is no overt act 
proven at all. Now, that an overt act consists of fact and intention, 
has been so often repeated here, that it has a f:iir title to Justice 
Yaughan's epithet of a ' decantaium.' In speaking then of this overt 
act, we are compelled to inquire, not merely into the fact of the as- 
semblage, but the intention of it, in doing which, we must examine 
and dcvelope the whole project of the prisoner. It is obvious, there- 
fore, that an abstract examination of this point cannot be made ; and 
since the gentlemen drive us into the examination, they cannot com- 
plain, if, without any softening of lights or deepening of shades, we 
exhibit the picture in its true and natural state. 

" This motion *is a bold and original stroke in the noble science of 
defence. It marks the genius and hand of a master. For it gives 
to the prisoner every possible advantage, while it gives him the full 
benefit of his legal defence : the sole defence which he would be able 
to make to the jury, if the evidence were all introduced before them. 
It cuts ofi^ from the prosecution all that evidence which goes to con- 
nect the prisoner with the assemblage on the island, to explain the 
destination and objects of the assemblage, and to stamp, beyond con- 
troversy, the character of treason upon it. Connect this motion with 
that which was made the other day, to compel us to begin with the 
proof of the overt act, in which, from their zeal, gentlemen were 
equally sanguine, and observe what would have been the efiect of suc- 
cess in both motions. We should have been reduced to the single 
fact, the individual fact, of the assemblage on the island, without any 
of the evidence which explains the intention and object of that assem- 
blage. Thus, gentlemen would have cut off all the evidence which 
carries up the plot almost to its conception, which, at all events, 
describes the first motion which quickened it into life, and follows its 
progress, until it attained such strength and maturity, as to throw the 
whole western country into consternation. Thus, of the loorld of 
evidence which we have, we should have been reduced to the speck, 
the alom, which relates to Blennerhassct's Island. 



" I shall proceed now to examine the merits of the motion itself, 
and to answer the argument of the gentleman (Mr. Wickham) who 
opened it. I will treat that gentleman with candour. If I misrepre- 
sent him, it will not be intentionally. I will not follow the example 
wliicli he has set me on a very recent occasion. I will not complain 
of fiowcrs and graces where none exist. I will not, like him, reply 
to an argument as naked as a sleeping Venus, but certainly not half 



Chap. XIV.l WIRT'S SPEECH. 169 

SO beautiful, cduiplain of the painful necessity I am under, in the 
weakness and decrepitude of logical vigour, of lifting first this flounce 
and then that furbelow, before I can reach the wished-for point of 
attack. I keep no flounces or furbelows, ready manufactured and 
hung up for use in the millinery of my fancy ; and, if I did, I think 
I should not be so indiscreetly impatient to get rid of my wares, 
as to put them off on improper occasions. I cannot promise to inte- 
rest you by any classical and elegant allusions to the pui'e pages of 
Tristram Shandy. I cannot give you a squib or a rocket in every 
period. For my own part, I have always thought these flashes of wit 
(,if they deserve that name), I have always thought these meteors of 
the brain, which spring up with such exuberant abundance in the 
speeches of that gentleman, which play on each side of the path of 
reason, or, sporting across it with fiintastic motion, decoy the mind 
from the true point in debate, no better evidence of the soundness of 
the argument with which they are connected, nor, give me leave to 
add, the ^^gour of the brain from which they spring, than those va- 
pours which start from our marshes and blaze with a momentary com- 
bustion, and which, floating on the undulations of the atmosphere, 
beguile the traveller into bogs and brambles, are evidences of the 
firmness and solidity of the earth from which they proceed. I will 
endeavour to meet the gentleman's propositions in their full force, and 
to answer them foirly. I will not, as I am advancing towards them, 
with my mind's eye, measure the height, breadth, and power of the 
proposition ; if I find it beyond my strength, halve it ; if still beyond 
my strength, quarter it ; if still necessary, subdivide it into eighths ; 
and when by this process I have reduced it to the proper standard, 
take one of these sections, and toss it with an air of elephantine 
strength and superiority. If I find myself capable of conducting, by 
a fair course of reasoning, any one of his propositions to an absurd 
conclusion, I will not begin by stating that absurd conclusion, as the 
proposition itself which I am going to encounter. I will not, in com- 
menting on the gentleman's authorities, thank the gentleman with 
.■sarcastic politeness for introducing them, declare that they conclude 
directly against him, read just so much of the authority as serves the 
purpose of that declaration, omitting that which contains the true 
point of the case which makes against me ; nor, if forced by a direct 
call to read that part also, will I content myself by running over it as 
rapidly and inarticulately as I can, throw down the book with a the- 
atrical air, and exclaim, 'just as I said,' when I know it is just as I 
had not said. I know that by adopting these arts, I might raise a 
laugh at the gentleman's expense ; but I should be very little pleased 
with myself, if I were capable of enjoying a laugh procured by such 
means. I know too, that by adopting such arts, there will always be 
those standing around us, who have not comprehended the whole 
merits of the legal discussion, with whom I might shake the character 
Vol. I.— 15 



170 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1807 

of the gentleman's science and judgment as a lawyer. I hope I shall 
never be capable of such a wish, and I had hoped that the gentleman 
himself felt so strongly that proud, that high, aspiring, and ennobling 
magnanimity, which I had been told conscious talents rarely fail to 
inspire, that he would have disdained a poor and fleeting triumph, 
gained by means like these. 

" I proceed now to answer the several points of his argument, so 
far as they could be collected from the general course of his speech. 
I say, so far as they could be collected ; for the gentleman, although 
requested before he began, refused to reduce his motion to writing. 
It suited better his partizan style of warfare to be perfectly at large ; 
to change his ground as often as he pleased ; on the plains of Mon- 
mouth to-day, at the Eutaw Springs to-morrow. He will not censure 
me, therefore, if I have not been correct in gathering his points from 
a desultory discourse of four or five hours in length, as it would not 
have been wonderful if I had misunderstood him. I trust, tlierefore, 
that I have been correct ; it was my intention to be so ; for I can 
neither see pleasure nor interest, in misreprescnl'mg any gentleman ; 
and I now beg the court and the gentleman, if he will vouchsafe it, 
to set me right, if I have misconceived him. 

" I understood him, then, sir, to resist the introduction of farther 
evidence under this indictment, by making four propositions : 

" 1. Because Aai-on Burr, not being on the island at the time of 
the assemblage, cannot be a principal in the treason according to the 
constitutional definition or the laws of England. 

"2. Because the indictment must be proved as laid; and as the 
indictment charges the prisoner with levying war with an assemblage 
on the island, no evidence to charge him with that act by relation is 
relevant to this indictment. 

" 3. Because, if he be a principal in the treason at all, he is a 
principal in the second degree ; and his guilt being of that kind which 
is termed derivative, no parol evidence can be let in to charge him, 
imtil we shall show a record of the conviction of the principals in the 
first deiiree. 

'' 4. Because no evidence is relevant to connect the prisoner with 
others, and thus to make him a traitor by relation, until we shall 
pi'eviously show an act of treason in these others ; and the assemblage 
on the island was not an act of treason. 

'' I beg leave to take up these propositions in succession, and to 
give them those answers which to my mind are satisfactory. Let us 
examine the first : It is because Aaron Burr, not being present on the 
island at the time of the assemblage, cannot be a principal in the 
treason, within the constitutional definition or the laws of England. 

" In many of the gentleman's general propositions, I perfectly 
accord with him : as that the Constitution was intended to guard 
against the calamities to which Montesquieu refers, when he speaks 



Chap. XIV.] WIRT'S SPEECH. 171 

of the victims of treason; that the Constitution intended to guard 
against arbitraiy and constructive treasons; that the principles of 
sound reason and liberty require their exclusion ; and that the Con- 
stitution is to be interpreted by thc^ulcs of reason and moral right. 
I fear, however, that I shall find it difficult to accommodate both the 
gentlemen who have spoken in support of the motion, and to recon- 
cile some of the positions of Mr. Randolph to the rules of Mr. Wick- 
ham ; for while the one tells us to interpret the Constitution by sound 
reason, the other exclaims, '■ save us from the deductions of common 
sense.' What rule, then, shall I adopt ? A kind of reason which is 
not common sense might indeed please both the gentlemen ; but as 
that is a species of reason of which I have no very distinct conception, 

I hope the gentlemen will excuse me for not employing it. 

******* 

" The inquiry is, whether presence at the overt act be necessary to 

make a man a traitor ? The gentlemen say fhat. it is necessary ; that 

he cannot be a principal in the treason without actual presence. 

What says the Supreme Court, in the case of Bollman and Swart- 

wout ? ' It is not the intention of the court to say that no individual 

can be gTiilty of this crime who has not appeared in arms against his 

country ; on the contrary, if war be actually levied, that is, if a body 

of men be assembled, for the purpose of effecting by force a treasonable 

purpose, all those who perform any part, however minute, or however 

remote from the scene of action, and who are actually leagued in the 

general conspiracy, are to be considered as traitors.' 

******* 

'' The counsel knew that their first point was met directly by the 
counter authority of the Supreme Court. They have impliedly, if 
not expressly admitted it ; hence they have been reduced to the neces- 
sity of taking the bold and difficult ground, that the passage which I 
have read is extra-judicial, a mere obiter dictum. They have said 
this, but they have not attempted to show it. 

" Give me leave to show that they are mistaken ; that it is not an 

olrter dictum; ih^t it is not extra-judicial-; but that it is a direct 

adjudication of a point immediately before the court. 

******* 

*' But, for a moment, let us relinquish that decision ; and, putting 
it aside, let us indulge the gentleman with the inquiry, whether that 
decision be in conformity with the Constitution of the United States 
and the laws of England. In interpreting the Constitution, let us 
apply to it the gentleman's own principles : the rules of reason and 
moral right. The question to be thus determined, is whether a man 
who is absent may not be guilty as if he were actually present. 

'^ That a law should be so construed as to advance the remedy and 
repress the mischief, is not more a rule of common law than a princi- 
ple of reason : it applies to penal as well as to remedial laws. So also 



172 • WIRT'S SPEECH. ' [1807. 

the maxim of the common law, that a law as well as a covenant should 
1)6 so construed that its object may rather prevail than perish, is one 
of the plainest dictates of common sense. Apply these principles to 
the Constitution. Gentlemen have said, that its object was to prevent 
the people from being harassed by arbitrary and constructive treason. 
But its object, I presume, was not to declare that there was no such 
crime. It certainly did not mean to encourage treason. It meant to 
recognise the existence of the crime, and provide for its jxmishmeut. 
The liberties of the people, which required that the offence should be 
defined, circumscribed and limited, required also that it should be cer- 
tainly and adequately punished. The framers of the Constitution, 
informed by the examples of Greece and Rome, and foreseeing that 
the liberties of this republic might one day or other be seized by the 
daring ambition of some domestic usurper, have given peculiar import- 
ance and solemnity to the crime, by ingrafting it upon the Constitu- 
tion. But they have done this in vain, if the construction contended 
for on the other side is to prevail. If it require actual presence at 
the scene of the assemblage, to involve a man in the guilt of treason, 
how easy will it be for the principal traitor to avoid this guilt, and 
escape punishment forever ! He may go into distant States, from one 
State to another. He may secretly wander, like a demon of darkness, ^ 
from one end of the continent to the other. He may enter into the i 
confidence of the simple and unsuspecting. He may pour his poison ; 
into the minds of those who were before innocent. He may seduce j 
them into a love of his person ; ofier them advantages ; pretend that I 
his measures are honourable and beneficial ; connect them in his plot 
and attach them to his glory. He may prepare the whole mechanism 
of the stupendous and destructive engine, and put it in motion. Let 
the rest be done by his agents. He may then go a hundred miles 
from the scene of action. Let him keep himself only from the scene 
of the assemblage and the immediate spot of battle, and he is innocent 
_in law, while those whom he has deluded are to suffer the death of 
traitors ! Who is the most guilty of this treason, the poor, weak, de- 
luded Instruments, or the artful and ambitious man who corrupted and 
misled them?- 'There is no comparison between his guilt and theirs; 
and yet you secure impunity to him, while they are to suffer death ! 
Is this according to the rules of reason ? Is this moral right ? Is 
this , a mean of preventing treason? Or, rather, is it not in truth a 
direct in vU^atioji to it ? Sir, it is obvious that neither reason nor moral 
right require actuaT^-esenco at the overt act to constitute the crime 
of treason. Put this case to any common man, whether the absence 
of a corrupter should exempt him from punishment for the crime 
which he has excited his deluded agents to commit, and he will in- 
tantly tell you that he deserves intiuitcly more severe punishment 
than his misguided instruments. There is a moral sense, much more 
unerring, in questions of this sort, than the frigid deductions of jurists 



I 



K 



Chat. XIV.] WIRT'S SPEECH. 173 

or philosophers ; and no man of a sound mind and heart can doubt for 
a. moment bet-^en the comparative guilt of Aaron Bui t Tth e n r ir ge 
[»nnv er of tho whole mischief) and of the poor men on BlefliiernasseFg 
^Mixnd, ul)u tallied tli*effselves Burr's men. In the case of murder, 
who is the most guilty, the ignorant, deluded perpetrator, or the abo- 
minable instigator ? The decision of the Supreme Court, sir, is so far 
from being impracticable on the ground of reason and moral right, 
that it is supported by their most obvious and palpable dictates. Give 
to the Constitution the construction contended for on the other side, 
and you might as well exjDunge the crime fi-om your criminal code ; 
nay, you had better do it, for by this construction you hold out the 
lure of impunity to the most dangerous men in the community, men 
of ambition and talents, while you loose the vengeance of the law on 
the comparatively innocent. If treason ought to be repressed, I ask 
you, who is the most dangerous and the most likely to commit it,-:;:^. 
the mere instrument who applies the force, or the daring, aspiring, 
elevated genius who devises the whole plot, but acts behind the 
scenes ? 

" Permit me now to bring Mr. Wickham to England. Sir, the 
decision of the Supreme Court is equally supported by the law of 
England. 

•X- * * * * -Jf 

" But to gratify them, let us put Coke aside ; what will they say 
to Lord Hale ? Did any angry and savage passions agitate his bosom 
or darken the horizon of his understanding on criminal law ? no, 
sir, no spot ever soiled the holy ermine of his office ; mild, patient, 
benevolent — halcyon peace in his breast, with a mind beaming the 
effulgence of noon-day, and with a seraph's soul, he sat on the bench 
like a descended Grod ! Yet that judge has laid down the doctrine 
for which I contend, in terms as distinct and emphatic as those of 
Lord Coke. In 1 Hale, 214 — ' But if many conspire to counterfeit, 
or counsel, or abet it, and one of them doth the fact upon that coun- 
selling or conspiracy, it is treason in all, and they may be all indicted 
for counterfeiting generally, within this statute, for in such case in 
treason all are principals.' 

* Hr -x- * -X- * * 

" It is true that Judge Tucker has very elaborately discussed this 
subject, and combated the doctrine that all are principals. I admit 
the truth of all the encomiums which the counsel for the defendant 
have pronounced upon that gentleman. He has all the illumination 
of mind and all the virtues of the heart, which those gentlemen, 
with the view of enhancing the weight of his authority, have been 
pleased to ascribe to him. What they have said of him from policy, 
I can say of him from my heart, for I know it to be true. Yet give 
me leave, sir, very briefly to examine his argiiment upon this subject. 
His object is to prove, that the position, that ' in high treason, all are 
15* 



174 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1807. 

priucipals/ is not law in England. The mode whicli he adopts to 
prove his point is this : He collates all the authorities vrbich have sup- 
ported this doctrine, and tracing it up v/ith patient and laborious per- 
severance, tvith the view ' pelerefonles,' he finds the first spring in 
the reign of Henry VI. That case is reported in the year-book, 1 
Hen. G, 5, and is very nearly as stated by Mr. Tucker from Stanford. 
It is the case of a man, who broke prison and let out traitors. Stan- 
ford says it was adjudged petit treason; the year-books merely say 
that he was drawn and hanged. A sentence in those days, when the 
notions and punishment of treason (notwithstanding the statute of 
Edward) remained still unsettled, is no very unequivocal proof that 
his crime was petit treasoff! 

•X- * * * * * * 

" The gentleman next tried the case of Sir Nicholas Throgmorton's 
sufferings, as they are represented as a Gorgon's head by Judge 
Tucker, not as an illustration of the law, but by way of exciting our 
horror against a corrupt judge. "We do not rely upon the authority 
of that case. What can be the motives which the gentleman had in 
view, in reading this case with a countenance and cadence of such 
peculiar pathos ? Was it to excite our sympathies, under the hope 
that our apprehensions and feelings when once set afloat might, for 
the want of some other living object, be graciously transferred to his 
client ? 

It was with the same view, I presume, that the gentleman gave us 
the pathetic and affecting story of lady Lisle, as it is touched by the 
elegant, chaste and delicate pencil of Hume. It was with the same 
views, also, that he recited from the same author, the deep, perfidious 
and bloody horrors of a Kirk and a Jefferies. Sensible that there 
was nothing in the virtues of his client, or in this cause, to interest 
us, he borrowed the sufferings and the virtues of a Throgmorton and 
a lady Lisle, to enlist our affections and set our hearts a bleeding, 
hoping that our pity thus excited might be transferred and attached 
to his client. I hope that we feel as much horror at the infei-nal 
depravity of Judge Bromley, and the sanguinary and execrable 
tyranny of Judge Jefferies, as they or any other gentlemen can feel. 
But these cases do not apply to merciful and immaculate judges. We 
cannot think it very complimentary or respectful to this court, to 
adduce such cases. They seem to be held up in terrorem, from an 
apprehension that their authority would be admitted here; but we 
apprehend no such consequence. 

" But he says that since the revolution of 1688, the British de- 
cisions have leaned the other way, and go to show that accessorial acts 
do not make a principal in treason. How is this conclusion obtained ? 
By any adjudged case ? No. By any obiter dictum of a judge ? 
No. How then does the gentleman support the idea of this change 
in the English law ? He has drawn the reference from the impunitj 



Chat. XIV.] WIRT'S SPEECH. 175 

of those who aided the Pretender, who fought his battles or aided 
him in his flight. This is a new way of settling legal principles. 
Sir, this was the mere policy of the house of Hanover. The pre- 
i tensions of the Stuarts had divided the British nation. Their adhc- 
I rents were many and zealous. Their pretensions were crushed in 
battle. Two courses were open to the reigning monarch : either by 
clemency and forbearance, to assuage the animosity of his enemies 
and brace his throne with the affections of his people ; or to pursue 
his enemies with vengeance, to drive them to desperation ; to disgust 
his friends by needless and wanton cruelty, and to unsettle and float 
I his throne in the blood of his subjects. He chose the former course ; 
and because either from magnanimity or policy, or both, he spared 
I them, he supposes that the law of treason was changed, and that they 
i could not be punished. To prevent this inference, according to the 
reasoning of the gentleman, it was necessary to have beheaded or 
hung up every human being who even aided the unfortunate Charles 
in his flight. Mr. Wickham has mentioned Miss Macdonald ; and he 
would have the monarch to have hazarded the indignation and revolt 
of a generous people, by seizing that beautiful and romantic enthu- 
siast. Flora Macdonald, and dragging her from her native mountains 
in the isle of Sky to a prison and to death ! The truth is, as we are 
told by Doctor Johnson in his tour to the Hebrides, that this step, im- 
politic as it was, nevertheless was hazarded, though but partially. 
She was carried to London, but, together with M'Cleod who had aided 
in the same flight, was dismissed on the pretext of the want of evi- 
dence. But certainly the forbearance of the house of Hanover to 
punish under an existing law is no argument of the change of that 
law." , 

The argument here runs into a long and minute course of reason- 
ing, and examination of authorities upon the law relating to principals 
and accessories, from which I forbear to make extracts. 

We proceed to other passages of more interest. In one of these 
the reader will recognize a portion of the speech which has been often 
quoted for the vivid, and felicitous picture it presents of the principal 
coadjutor in the conspiracy, and its prominent victim — Herman Blen- 
nerhasset. To this poetical tribute of the prosecuting counsel, which 
the newspaper-press of the day made so popular through the country, 
we may ascribe, in great part, that large amount of public sympathy 
by which Blennerhasset's participation in the nefarious scheme was 
palliated and excused. 

" I come now, sir, to the gentleman's third point, in which he says 
ho cannot possibly fliiL It is this : ' because if the prisoner be a 
pr-ncipal in the treason at all, he is a principal in the second degree * 



176 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1807. 

and bis o-uilt beina; of tbat kind wbicb is termed derivative, no furtbcr 
parol evidence can be let in to cbarge him, until "we sbow a record of 
the conviction of the principals in tbc first degree.' 

'^ By this I understand the gentleman to ad^'Xlnce, in other terms, 
the common law doctrine, that when a man is rendered a principal in 
treason, by acts which would make him an accessory in felony, he 
cannot be tried before the principal in the first degree. 

" I understand this to be the doctrine of the common law, as esta- 
blished by all the authorities ; but when I concede this point, I insist 
that it can have no effect in favour of the accused, for tvro reasons : 

" 1st. Because it- is the mere creature of the common law. 

" 2dly. Because if the common law of England be our law, this 
position assumes what is denied, that the conduct of the prisoner in 
this case is of an accessorial nature or such as would make him an 
accessory in felony. 

" First. Because this position is the mere creature of the common 
law. If it be so, no consequence can be deduced from it. It is suf- 
ficient, on this branch of the subject, to take his ovrn declaration, that 
the common law does not exist in this country. If wc examine the 
Constitution and the act of Congress, we shall find that this idea of a 
distinction between principals in the first and second degree depends 
entirely on the common law. Neither the Constitution nor the act 
of Congi-ess knows any such distinction. Ml who levy war against 
the United States, whether present or absent — all who are leagued 
in the conspiracy, whether on the spot of the assemblage or perform- 
ing some minute and inconsiderable part in it, a thousand miles from 
the scene of action, incur equally the sentence of the law : they are 
all equally traitors. This scale, therefore, which graduates the guilt 
of the oflenders and establishes the order of their respective trials, if 
it ever existed here, is completely abrogated by the highest authorities 
in this country. The Convention which formed the Constitution and 
defined treason. Congress which legislated on that subject, and the 
Supreme Judiciary of the country expounding the Constitution and 
the law, have united in its abrogation. But let us for a moment put 
the Convention, Congress, and the Judiciary aside, and examine how 
the case will stand. Still this scale of moral guilt, which Mr. Wick- 
ham has given us, is the creature of the coinmon law, which as already 
observed, he himself in another branch of his argument has emphati- 
cally told us does not exist in this country. He has stated that the- 
creature presupposes the creator, and that where the creator does not 
exist, the creature cannot. The common law then being the creator 
of the rule which Mr. Wickham has given us, and that common law 
not existing in this country, neither can the rule which is the mere 
creatui-e of it exist in this country. So that the gentleman has him- 
self furnished the argument, which refutes this infallible point of his, 
on which he has so much relied. But to try this position to its utmost 



Chap. XIV ] WIRT'S SPEECH. 177 

extent, let us not only put aside the Constitution and act of Congress 
and decision of the Supreme Court, but let us admit that the common 
law does exist here. Still before the principle could apply, it would 
remain to be proven, that the conduct of the prisoner in this case has 
been accessorial; or in other words, that his acts in relation to this 
treason are of such a nature as would make him an accessory in 
felony. 

" But is this the case ? It is a mere petitio principii. It is denied 
that his acts are such as would make him an accessory in felony. I 
have already, in another branch of this subject, endeavoured to show, 
on the grounds of authority and reason, that a man might be involved 
in the guilt of treason as a principal, by being legally, though not 
actually present; that treason occupied a much wider space than 
felony; that the scale of proximity between the accessory and the 
principal must be extended in proportion to the extent of the theatre 
of the treason ; and that, as the prisoner must be considered as legally 
present, he could not be an accessory, but a principal. If I have suc- 
ceeded in this, I have in fact proved that his conduct cannot be deemed 
accessorial. But an error has taken place from considering the scene 
of the overt act as the theatre of the treason ; from mistaking the overt 
act for the treason itself, and consequently from referring the conduct 
of the prisoner to the acts on the island. The conduct of Aaron Burr 
has been considered in relation to the overt act on Blennerhasset's 
island only ; whereas it ought to be considered in connection with the 
grand design, the deep plot of seizing Orleans, separating the Union, 
and establishing an independent empire in the west, of which the pri- 
soner was to be the chief. It ought to be recollected that these were 
his objects, and that the whole western country, from Beaver to Or- 
leans, was the theatre of his treasonable operations. It is by this first 
reasoning that you are to consider whether he be a principal or an 
accessory, and not by limiting your inquiries to the circumscribed and 
narrow spot in the island where the acts charged happened to be per- 
formed. Having shown, I think, on the ground of law, that the pri- 
soner cannot be considered as an accessory, let me press the inquiry 
whether, on the ground of reason, he be a principal or an accessory : 
and remember that his project was to seize New Orleans, separate the 
Union, and erect an independent empire in the west, of which he was 
to be the chief. This was the destination of the plot and the conclu- 
sion of the drama. Will any man say that Blennerhasset was the 
principal, and Burr but an accessory? Who will believe that Burr, 
the author and projector of the plot, who raised the forces, who enlisted 
the men, and who procured the funds for carrying it into execution, 
was made a cat's-paw of? Will any man believe that Burr, who is a 
soldier, bold, ardent, restless and aspiring, the great actor whose brain 
conceived and whose hand brought the plot into operation, that ho 
should sink down into an accessory, and that Blennerhasset should 

M 



178 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1807. 

be elevated into a principal ? He would startle at once at the tliouglit. 
Aaron Burr, the contriver of the whole conspiracy, to CA^erybody con- 
cerned in it, was as the sun to the planets which surround him. Did 
he not bind them in their respective orbits, and give them their light, 
their heat and their motion ? Yet he is to be considered an accessor}', 
and Blcnnerh asset is to be the principal ! 

" Let us put the case between Burr and Blennerhasset. Let us 
compare the two men, and settle this question of precedence between 
them. It may save a good deal of troublesome ceremony hereafter. 

" Who Aaron Burr is, we have seen, in part, already. I will add 
that, beginning his operations in New York, he associates with him 
men whose wealth is to supply the necessary funds. Possessed of the 
mainspring, his personal labour contrives all the machinery. Pervad- 
ing the continent from New York to New Orleans, he draws into his 
plan, by every allurement which he can contrive, men of all ranks and 
descriptions. To youthful ardour he presents danger and glory ; to 
ambition, rank and titles and honours ; to avarice, the mines of Mexico. 
To each person whom he addresses he presents the object adapted to 
his taste. His recruiting officers are appointed. Men are engaged 
throughout the continent. Civil life is, indeed, quiet upon its surface, 
but in its bosom this man has contrived to deposit the materials which, 
with the slightest touch of his match, produce an explosion to shake 
the continent. All this his restless ambition has contrived ; and in 
the autumn of 180G, he goes forth, for the last time, to apply this 
match. On this occasion he meets with Blennerhasset. 

'' Who is Blennerhasset ? A native of L-eland ; a man of letters, 
who fled from the storms of his own country to find quiet in ours. 
His history shows that war is not the natural element of his mind. 
If it had been, he never would have exchanged Ireland for America. 
So far is an army from furnishing the society natural and proper to 
Mr. Blenuerhasset's charactei', that on his arrival in America, he 
retired even from the population of the Atlantic states, and sought 
quiet and solitude in the bosom of our western forests. But he car- 
ried with him taste and science and wealth; and lo, the desert 
smiled ! Possessing himself of a beautiful island in the Ohio, he 
rears upon it a palace, and decorates it with every romantic embel- 
lishment of fancy. A shrubbery, that Shenstone might have envied, 
blooms around him. INIusie, that might have charmed Calypso and 
licr nymphs, is his. An extensive library spreads its treasures before 
him. A philosophical apparatus oiFers to him all the secrets and 
mysteries of nature. Peace, tranquillity and innocence shed their 
mingled delights around him. And to crown the enchantment of the 
scene, a wife, who is said to be lovely even beyond her sex, and 
graced with every accomplishment that can render it irresistible, had 
blessed him with her love and made him the father of scAcral children. 
The evidence would convince you that this is but a faint picture of 



Chap. XIV.] WIRT'S SPEECH. 179 

the real life. In the midst of all this peace, this innocent simplicity 
and this tranquillity, this feast of the mind, this pure banquet of the 
heart, the destroyer comes ; he comes to change this paradise into a 
hell. Yet the flowers do not wither at his approach. No monitory 
shuddering through the bosom of their unfortunate possessor warns 
him of the ruin that is coming upon him. \ A stranger presents him- 
self. Introduced to their civilities by the high rank which he had 
lately held in his country, he soon finds his way to their hearts by 
the dignity and elegance of his dcmeauoui-, the light and beauty of 
his conversation, and the seductive and fiiscinating power of his 
address. The conquest was not difEcult. Innocence is ever simple 
and credulous. Conscious of no design itself, it suspects none in 
others. It wears no guard before its breast. Every door and portal 
and avenue of the heart is thrown open, and all who choose it enter. 
Such was the state of Eden when the serpent entered its bowers. 
The prisoner, in a more engaging form, winding himself into the 
opei. and unpractised heart of the unfortunate Blennerhasset, found 
but little difficulty in changing the native character of that heart and 
the objects of its affection. By degrees he infuses into it the poison 
of his own ambition. He breathes into it the fire of his own cou- 
rage ; a daring and desperate thirst for glory ; an ardour panting for 
great enterprises, for all the storm and bustle and hurricane of life. 
In a short time the whole man is changed, and every object of his 
former delight is relinquished. No more he enjoys the tranquil 
scene ; it has become flat and insipid to his taste. His books are 
abandoned. His retort and crucible are thrown aside. His shrubbery 
blooms and breathes its fragrance upon the air in vain ; he likes it 
not. His ear no longer drinks the rich melody of music ; it longs 
for the trumpet's clangour and the cannon's roar. Even the prattle 
of his babes, once so sweet, no longer affects him ; and the angel 
smile of his wife, which hitherto touched his bosom with ecstasy so 
unspeakable, is now unseen and unfelt. Greater objects have taken 
possession of his soul. His imagination has been dazzled by visions 
of diadems, of stars and garters and titles of nobility. He has been 
, taught to burn with restless emulation at the names of great heroes 
I and conquerors. His enchanted island is destined soon to relapse 
into a wilderness ; and in a few months we find the beautiful and 
tender partner of his bosom, whom he lately ' permitted not the winds 
Ij of summer ' to visit too roughly/ we find her shivering at midnight, 
on the wintery banks of the Ohio, and mingling her tears with the 
torrents, that froze as they fell. Yet this unfortunate man, thus 
deluded from his interest and his happiness, thus seduced from the 
paths of innocence and peace, thus confounded in the toils that were 
deliberately spread for him, and overwhelmed by the mastering spirit 
and genius of another — this man, thus ruined and-undone and made 
to play a subordinate part in this grand drama of guilt and treason, 



180 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1807. 

this man is to be called the principal offender, while he, by whom he 
was thus plunged in misery, is comparatively innocent, a mere acces- 
sory ! Is this reason ? Is it law ? Is it humanity ? Sir, neither 
the human heart nor the human understanding will bear a perversion 
so monstrous and absurd ! so shocking to the soul ! so revoltina; to 
reason! Let Aaron Burr then not shrink from the high destination i 
wliich he has courted; and having already ruined Blennerhasset in i 
fortune, character and happiness forever, let him not attempt to finish 
the tragedy by thrusting that ill-fated man between himself and 
punishment. 

" Upon the whole, sir, reason declares Aaron Burr the principal in ! 
this crime, and confirms herein the sentence of the law ; and the gen- 
tleman, in saying that his offence is of a derivative and accessorial 
nature, begs the question, and draws his conclusions from what, in- 
stead of being conceded, is denied. It is clear from what has been 
said, that Burr did not derive his guilt from the men on the island, 
but imparted his own guilt to them ; that he is not an accessory, but 
a principal ; and therefore, that there is nothing in the objection 
which demands a record of their conviction, before we shall go on 
with our proof against him. 

¥r % -.^r % ¥r ¥r 

'' The cjuestion then is, whether, all these things admitted, the 
assemblage on the island were an overt act of IcA'ying war. Here, 
sir, are Ave forced most reluctantly to argue to the court, on only a part 
of the evidence, in presence of the jury, before they have heard the 
rest of the evidence, which might go a great way to explain or alter 
its effect. But unpleasant as the question is in this way, we must 
meet it. What is an open act of levying war ? To which we are 
obliged to answer, that it must be decided by the Constitution and act 
of Congress. 

" Gentlemen on the other side, speaking on this subject, have asked 
us for battles, bloody battles, hard knocks, the noise of cannon. 
' Show us your open acts of war,' they exclaim. Hard knocks, says 
one, are things we can all feel and understand. Where was the open 
deed of war, this bloody battle, this bloody war ? cries another. No 
where, gentlemen. There was no bloody battle. There was no bloody 
war. Tlie energy of a despised and traduced government prevented 
that tragical consecjuence. In reply to all this blustering and clamour 
for blood and havoc, let me aslc calmly and temperately, does our Con- 
stitution and act of Congress require them ? Can treason be com- 
niittcd l)y nothing short of actual battle ? Mr. Wickham, shrinking 
from a position so bokl and indefensible, has said that if there be not 
actual force, there must be at least potential force, such as terror and 
intimidation struck by the treasonable assemblage. We will examine 
this idea presently. Let us, at this moment, i-ecur to the constitu- 



Chap. XIV.] WIRT'S SPEECH. 181 

tional definition of treason, or to so mueli thereof as relates to this 
case. ' Treason against the United States shall consist only in Icxy- 
ing war against them/ not in making war, but in levying it. The 
whole question then turns on the meaning of that word, levying. 
This word, however, the gentlemen on the other side have artfully 
dropped : as if conscious of its operation against them, they have 
entirely omitted to vise it. 

" We know that ours is a motley language, variegated and enriched 
by the plunder of many foreign stores. When we derive a word from 
the Greek, the Latin, or any other foreign language, living or dead, 
philolologists have always thought it most safe and correct to go to the 
original language, for the purpose of ascertaining the precise meaning 
of such word. Levy, we are told by all our lexicographers, is a word 
of French origin. It is proper, therefore, that we should turn to the 
dictionary of that language, to ascertain its true and real meaning ; 
and I believe we shall not find that when applied to war, it ever means 
to fight, as the gentlemen on the other side would have us to believe. 
Boyer's Dictionary is before me, sir, and I am the more encouraged 
to appeal to him, because, in the case of Bollman and Swartwout, your 
Honour, in estimating the import of this very word, thought it not 
improper to refer to the authority of Dr. Johnson. 

" ' Lever,' the verb active, signifies, according to Boyer, ' to lift;, 
heave, hold or raise up.' Under the verb he has no phrase applicable 
to our purpose : but under the substantive, levee, he has several. I 
will give you them all. 

" Levee d'un siege, the raising of a sie£Q-^ Levee desfruils^ gath- 
ering of fruits, crop, harvest. 

" Levee dn parlc7ncnt Britannigue, the rising or recess of the 
British Parliament. Levee (coUecte de d6niers) a levy-raising, or 
gathering. 

" Levee de gens de guerre, levying, levy, or raising of soldiers. 
Faire des levees de soldats, to levy or raise soldiers. 
"~*'So that when applied to fruits or taxes, it means gathering as 
well as raising. When aj^plied to soldiers it means raising only, not 
gathering, assembling or even bringing them together, but merely 
raising. Johnson takes both these meanings, as you mentioned in 
the~case of Bollman and Swartwout ; but in the original language, we 
see that levying, when applied to soldiers, means simply the raising 
them, without any thing further. In military matters, levj'iug and 
raising, if Boyer may be trusted, are synonymous. 

" But to ascertain still more satisfiictorily the meaning of this word 
levy^ let us look to the source from which we have borrowed the whole 
definition of treason, the statute of 25 Edward III. The statute is 
in Norman French, and, in describing the treason of levying war, use.s 
these words ; ' Si home leve de guerre, contre nostre seigneur le roii 
en son royalme.' 
Vol. I. — 16 



182 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1807. 

"■ In a subsequent reign, I mean the factious and turbulent reign 
of Richard II., when the statute of Edward, although vmrepealed, was 
forgotten, lost and buried under the billows of party rage and Tcn- 
geance, it became, at length, necessary for parliament to interfere and 
break in pieces the engine of destructive treason ; and in the 21st 
year of Richard II., a statute w:as passed, which may be considei-ed 
as a parliamentary construction of that of Edward III. In that 
statute, the treason of levying war is thus explained, ' Celuy que levy 
Icpeuple et chevache encounter h roy a f aire guerre deins son realme.' 
Here the French verb, Jeve^ is the same as that used in the statute of 
Edward, with an unimportant orthographic variation ; and here it is 
clearly contradistinguished from the actual war. The levy is of men 
and horseSy for the purpose of making loar ; and the levy would have 
been complete, although the purpose had never been executed. I 
consider, therefore, the statute of Richard, as not only adding another 
authority to Boyer, to prove that the extent of the French verb lever^ 
when applied to soldiers, goes no farther than the raising them ; but 
I consider that statute also as a parliamentary exposition or glossary 
of the phrase levy de guerre, in the statute of Edward. 

* * * * * -jf 

" Mr. Lee saj's, that hard knocks are things we can all feel, yet it 
is equally true that an assemblage of men is an object we can .all .see. 
True it is, as the gentleman says, that cannons and small-arms may be 
heard ; and so may the disclosure of a treasonable plot. At last, the 
overt act which they require is but an appeal to the human senses ; 
and the overt act which we have proven is equally satisfactory to them. 
Why do they insist on calling in the sense of feeling to the sense of 
hearing ? He may say, if we were to feel it, that we must also taste 
and smell it. Mr. Wickham indeed complains, that if you stop him 
short of actual force, you take away the locus pcenitenlia:. I say, if 
you do not stop short of it, you take away the motive of repentance ; 
for you offer the traitor victory and triumph, and it is not in their arms 
that we ai'e to expect from him repentance. But was there, sir, no 
opportunity for repentance in this case ? We shall prove that the 
prisoner was for more than a year brooding over this treason. The 
ruin and desolation that he was about to bring upon this country, must 
have been often before him. If all love of his country were so far 
extinguished in his breast, that he could not forbear, if the downfall 
of liberty and the horrors of civil war gave no j^ang of remorse to 
his bosom, why, for his own sake, did he not repent ? ^YhJ did he 
not remember Cromwell, and the treason and fate of Cajsar ? — Crom- 
well, as bold and daring as himself; the miserable effects of his sue- ! 
ccssful iisurpation ; the terrors that haunted and scourged him day 
and night, and blasted him even amidst the splendour of a palace. 
Cajsar and Cromwell he did not forget ; but he remembered them as 
objects of competition and rivalship ; not to detest and abhor, but to 



Cn;.F. XIV.] WIRT'S SPEECH. 188 

en-\'y, aclniirc and emulate. Such was the kind of remorse wliieh ho 
felt at the idea of drenching his country in blood, and substituting 
despotism for liberty ; such the very promising disposition and temper 
for repentance which alone he manifested. 

" Mr.~ Randolph wishes to know how the line can be drawn be- 
tween enlisting and striking a blow. The answer is obvious : Jli the 
jmnt nf ike assemblage, where the courts of England and the high- 
est court in this country have concurred in drawing it. A line strong 
and plain enough to be seen and known is drawn. Does reason, sir, 
require that you should wait until the blow be struck ? If so, adieu 
to the law of treason and to the chance of punishment. The aspiring 
traitor has only to lay his plans, assemble his forces and strike no 
blow till he be in such power as to defy resistance. He understands 
the law of treason. He draws a line of demarcation for the purpose 
of keeping within the boundary of the law. He projects an enter- 
prise of treason. He enlists men. He directs all the operations_.es- 
sential to its success from one end of the continent to the other; but 
he keeps himself within the pale of the law. He goes on continually 
acquiring accessions of strength, like a snowball on the side of a moun- 
tain, till he becomes too laige for resistance, and sweeps every thing 
before him. He docs every thing short of striking a blow. He ad- 
vances till he gets to New Orleans. He does not hazard tlie blow 
till he is completely ready ; and when he does strike, it will be abso- 
lutely irresistible. Then what becomes of your Constitution, your 
law of Congress or your courts ? He laughs them to scorn. Is this 
the way to discourage treason ? Is it not the best way to excite and 
promote it ? to insure it the most complete success ? , I conclude, 
therefore, that reason does not require _/brce to constitute treason. 
* * "T-T."?^ ■■ —■< * -sf * ' 

"This court, then, having itself decided that the question, whether 
there have been an overt act or not, belongs essentially to the jury, it 
is strange that the prisoner should persist in pressing it on the court. 
What does he mean by calling on the court to decide on the fact of 
levying war? Have you the powei", sir? I should like to know 
where the .authority can be found to prove that you have it. And 
suppose the court thinks it has this power, and should exert it, what 
will be the consequences ? Will it not take away from the jury their 
acknowledged right of deciding on facts ? But the anxious persever- 
ance of the prisoner in this course certainly implies a reflection, either 
on the jury or the court; it implies either that the jury will not do 
him justice, or that the court will do him more than justice. If he 
believed the jury would do him justice, and wished nothing more, he 
would be content to leave his case to them. If he believed they 
would not do him justice, and he therefore tries to force his cause 
before the court, whether it will or no, I may truly say, that he exhi- 
bits a phenomenon unprecedented upon this earth : a man flying from 



184 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1807. 

a jury of his peers to take refuge under the wings of the court ! Sir, 
I can never think so ill of my countrymen as to believe that innocence 
need fly from them ; nor will my respect for the court permit me, for 
a moment, to apprehend that it will invade the peculiar and acknow- 
ledged province of the jury. This court well knows that my respect 
for its members, as private gentlemen and officially, is too great to 
apprehend that remarks of a general nature will be applied to them. 
But if, at this period, when the bench is so distinguished by intellect- 
ual power and superior illumination, a precedent be set, by which the 
gi'cat fact in trial for life and death shall be wrested from the jury 
and decided by the bench, what use may not be made of it hereafter ? 
In the fluctuations of party, in the bitterness of rancour and politi- 
cal animosity, the judges may lead juries to one side or the other, as 
they may think proper. They may dictate as to the existence of an 
overt act, and thus decide the fate of a prisoner. If a judge sitting 
on the bench shall decide on facts as well as law in a prosecution for 
treason, he may sacrifice or rescue whom he pleases. If he be a poli- 
tical partisan, he may save his friends from merited punishment, or 
blast his foes unjustly. If judges in future times, not having the 
feelings of humanity and patriotism which they have in these days, 
but animated by the zeal and factious spirit of party, to promote the 
views of party, shall have' th'e power' now "pi-oposed to be exercised, 
what will be the posture and fate of this country then ? If you esta- 
blish this precedent, some tyrant Bromley or iconic ruffian Jejferies 
may mount the bench. Can the soul look forward without horror to 
the dark and bloody deeds which he might perpetrate, armed with 
such a precedent as you are now called on to set? Eut you will not 
set it, sir. You will not bring your country to see an hour so fearful 
and perilous as that which shall witness the ruin of the trial by jury. 
I shudder to reflect what might be the consccjuences of such an houi-. 
You will cast your eyes into futurity, and, foreseeing the calamities 
thnt must result from so dangerous an example, will avoid it. You 
will be satisfied that neither reason nor the laws of Enirland or of this 
country support the doctrine, that you have the pov/er to prevent this 
jury from proceeding in their inquiry, merely because your mind is 
satisfied that the overt act is not proved. 

"All the distinctions which Mr. Wickham and Mr. Randolph have 
taken, have gone on the dangers of constructive treason. AH their 
apprehensions on this subject seem to me to be perfectly visionary. 
Tiicy appear to result from this mistake : — they look at the dangers 
of constructive treason under the common law, anterior to the statute 
of Edward. They look into the terrors expressed by Hale, when he 
^'numerates the many various kinds of treason, before that statute 
limited the number. The meaning of constructive treason is generally 
misconceived. It is well explained in 1 EasPs Crown Law, p. 72 : 
'Conslriictive Levying of War is in truth more directed against the 



t) 



Chap. XIV.] WIRT'S SPEECH. 185 

government than the person of the hing, though, in legal construction, 
it is a levying of war against the king himself. This is when an 
insurrection is raised to reform some national grievance, to alter the 
established laws or religion, to punish magistrates, to introduce iuno- 
vadons of a public concern, to obstruct the execution of some general 
law by an armed force, or for any other purpose which usurps the 
government in matters of a public and general concern? It is there- 
fiire true, as laid down by Mr. llawle in Fries' s trials p. 161, ' that 
what in England is called constructive levying of war, in this country 
must be called direct levying of war.' Although this seems not to 
be assented to by Judge Tucker, (4//t Tucker'' s Blackstone, Appen- 
dix, 13, 14,) possibly because he did not examine that point as tho- 
roughly as he did the doctrine of treason generally. 

" Before that statute passed, the dangers resulting from arbitrary 
constructions of treason were great and grievous, and the complaints 
against them as vehement as they were just. Levying war in Eng- 
land against the king or his government, the ' crimen Icbscr majesta- 
tis,' consists of direct and express levying of w^ar against the king's 
natural person ; constructive, levying it against his government or his 
authority in his political person. In America, the crime is defined 
in the Constitution. It consists in levying war against the United 
States. In England, it consists in an opposition to the king's autho- 
rity or prerogative. Here it is against the Constitution and govern- 
ment. In England, when it is intended against the life of the prince, 
it may consist in mere imagination, in the mere design or intent of 
the mind. But in this country the offence is against the government, 
the political person only; and it is actual w^ar. As it is against the 
government, not against a natural person, it" may be said to be con- 
structive. But constructive interpretations of treason, which produced 
so much terror and alarm formerly in England, and against the abuses 
of which gentlemen have declaimed so pathetically, cannot take place 
in this country. They are expressly excluded by the Constitution. 
Upon the whole, I contend, that the meeting on Blennerhasset's 
island, the intention of which is proven to be traitorous, was an act 
of treason] that the assemblage, v^'ith such intention, was suflacient 
for that purpose. And if it were not sufficient, this court cannot stop 
tlie proceedings. The jury must proceed with the inquiry. 

" I have finished what I had to say. I beg pardon for consuming 
the time of the court so long. I thank It for its patient and polite 
attention. I am too much exhausted to recapitulate, and to such a 
court as this is, I am sure it is unnccessar}'." 

This is an exhibition of some of the most prominent passages, of a 
speech which fills seventy pages of an octavo volume, and which oc- 
cupied several hours in the delivery. I have excluded , from thes* 
IG* 



186 WIRT'S SPEECH. [1807. 

extracts a large portion of the argument, which, dealing principally 
in minute discriminations of technical law, and in the analysis of legal 
decisions, could scarcely be expected to interest the general reader, 
and which would be still less satisfactory to members of the legal pro- 
fession who have familiar access to the full report of the trial. 

It may be remarked of this speech, that having been made at a 
time when the speaker was yet in the vigour of youthful manhood, 
and somewhat noted for the vivacity of his imagination and the warmth 
of his feelings, he may be supposed to have made this effort at disad- 
vantage, under the restraints necessarily imposed upon him by the 
nature of the subject and the forum to which he spoke. It was an 
argument upon mere questions of law, sufficiently abstruse and tech- 
nical in their nature to forbid any very free excm'sion of the fancy, 
and to defy the attractions of declamation. The orator, addressing 
himself to the most severe and disciplined mind in the judiciary of 
the nation, doubtless felt his inclination constantly rebuked by the 
presence in which he stood. He could not lose the consciousness of 
an ever-present constraint imposed upon him by the place, and the 
subject, both exacting logical precision and compact legal deduction. 
We cannot but remark, in the perusal of the speech, how apparent is 
the inclination of the speaker to escape from this thraldom, and to 
recreate his mind in the more congenial fields of rhetorical display; 
and how obviously he has felt the exigency of the argument, like a 
stone tied to the wings of his fancy, to bring him quickly back, on 
evei-y flight, to the labour of his task. At that period in the life of 
William Wirt, his forensic fame was much more connected with his 
efforts before a jury, than in discussions addressed to the bench ; and 
we cannot help feeling some regret, while speculating upon the pecu- 
liar power of the advocate and looking alone to our own satisfaction, 
that this celebrated and important trial had not oifered him an occa- 
sion to argue the questions of fact with which it abounded, as well as 
the points of law to which we have adverted. 

The description of the abode of Blennerhasset, which furnished a 
legitimate opportunity to the indulgence of Mr. Wirt's peculiar vein 
of eloquence in this trial, seems to have inspired one of the witnesses 
with the same fervour of poetical rapture in giving a sketch of this 
woodland paradise. 



Chap. XIV.] TESTIMONY OF MR. MERCER. 187 

A most estimable gentleman, who is yet alive to recall to memory 
the scenes which so attracted his youthful fancy, — Mr. Charles Fen- 
ton jMercer, — had visited the island, upon the invitation of its proprie- 
tor, just at the time when the conspiracy was said to be nearest its 
point of explosion. As he had seen nothing on this visit calculated 
to awaken his alarm for the peace of the country, his testimony was 
introduced into the trial for the misdemeanor, which immediately fol- 
lowed the acquittal on the charge of treason. This testimony was 
recorded in a written deposition, a few extracts from which will gra- 
tify the reader, by enabling him to compare Mr. Wirt's glowing pic- 
ture with the actual impression which the scene made upon Mr. 
^Mercer. 

'' On Saturday evening, the sixth day of December, this depo- 



nent arrived, in the course of his journey home, at the shore of Ohio, 
opposite to the island of Mr. Blennerhasset ; and having first learned, 
with some surprise, that Mr. Blennerhasset was yet on the island, 
crossed over to his house in a violent storm of wind and rain. That 
evening and the following day he spent at the most elegant seat in 
Virginia, in the society of Mr. Blennerhasset and his lovely and ac- 
complished lady. 

* * * * -ss- ^ 

" This deponent having expressed a desire to become the purchaser 
of Mr. Blennerhasset's farm, he had the goodness to show him the 
plan and arrangements of his house. Every room in it was opened 
to his inspection. As he walked through its different apartments, the 
proprietor frequently apologized for the confusion into which his fur- 
niture was thrown by his preparations for leaving it; and observed 
tha.t the greater part of his furniture, his musical instruments, and his 
library, containing several thousand volumes of books, were packed up 
for his immediate removal. 

****** 

" Mr. Blennerhasset having intended, before deponent reached his 
house, to visit Marietta on Sunday evening, the deponent availed him- 
self of a double motive to quit this attractive spot. He did not leave 
it, liowever, without regretting that the engagement of its proprietor, 
and his own dreary journey, but just begun in the commencement of 



188 TESTIMONY OF MR. MERCER. 11807. 

winter, forbade him to prolong a visit wliich, altliougli so transient, 
had afforded him so much pleasure. - * * * 

All that he had seen, heard or felt, corresponded so little with the 
criminal designs imputed to Mr. Blennerhasset, that if he could have 
\isited him with unfavourable sentiments, they would have vanished 
before the light of a species of evidence which, if not reducible to the J 
strict rules of legal testimony, has, nevertheless, a potent influence 
over all sensitive hearts, and which, though it possess not the formal 
sanction, has often more truth than oaths or affirmations. What ! 
will a man who, weary of the agitations of the world, of its noise and 
vanity, has unambitiously retired to a solitary island in the heart of a 
desert, and created there a terrestrial paradise, the very flowers and 
shrubs and vines of which he has planted, nurtured and reared with 
his own hands ; a man whose soul is accustomed to toil in the depths 
of science, and to repose beneath the bowers of literature ; whose ear 
is formed to the harmony of sound, and whose touch and breath daily 
awaken it from a variety of melodious instruments ; — will such a man 
start up, in the decline of life, from the pleasing dream of seven years' 
slumber, to carry fire and sword to the peaceful habitations of men 
who have never done him wrong ? Are his musical instruments and 
his library to be the equipage of a camp ? Will he expose a lovely 
and accomplished woman and two little children, to whom he seems 
so tenderly attached, to the guilt of treason and the horrors of war ? 
A treason so desperate — a war so unequal ! Were not all his prepa- 
rations better adapted to the innocent and useful purpose which he 
avowed, rather than to the criminal and hazardous enterprise which 
was imputed to him ? * * * Such were the sentiments 
with which the deponent left the island of Mr. Blennerhasset." 

The reader will smile at this rapture of enthusiasm in an affidavit, 
and weigh, with many grains of allowance, the warm-hearted friend- 
ship of a young votary fascinated by the attractions of this Eden in 
the wilderness ; but no one will smile more good-naturedly at it than 
the worthy author of it himself, who has lived long enough to repress 
the fervours of his imagination, though not to quench the generous 
and benevolent instincts of his heart. 

A few more brief references to these trials, and we shall dismiss 
the subject. 



Chap. XIV.] INCIDENTS OF THE TRIAL. 189 

These relate to minor incidents which transpired in the course of 
tho long examinations of testimony, and are only noticed to show the 
temper in which the parties stood to each other, and to some of the 
more prominent witnesses. 

General Wilkinson is under examination : 

" Mr. Botts, (speaking to the witness.) — When you are about to 
show a paper, you will please submit it to our inspection. 

" General Wilkinson. — I shall be governed by the Judge in 
that respect." 

" Mr. Botts. — Then we shall request the Judge to govern you in 
that respect. 

IMajor Bruff was called to the stand — 

" Mr. WiCKHAiM argued that the testimony of Major Bruff was ad- 
missible to show an inconsistency in that of General Wilkinson. 

" General Wilkinson. — May I be permitted to make one obser- 
vation ? I am not in the smallest degree surprised at the language 
which has, upon this and several other occasions, been used by the 
counsel of Col. Burr — men who are hired to misrepresent, 

" JNIr. Wickham. — I will not submit to such language from any 
man in court. 

" The Chief Justice declared the style of General Wilkinson 
to be improper, and that be had heard too much of such language in 
court. 

"General Wilkinson apologized." 

Silas Dinsmore is questioned — he says : 

" General Wilkinson condescended to ask my opinion, having pre- 
viously made a full disclosure of the dangers apprehended, and of the 
measures which he had adopted. I did give my advice in favour of 
seizing every man whom he found opposed to his measures. This 
was after a development of the state of affairs by General Wilkinson. 

« Mr. Martin. — And that not to be depended upon. 
" Mr. Wirt. — That will be a subject of discussion hereafter. 
"Mr. Martin. — I know that. 

"' Mr. Wirt, (in a low tone of voice to Mr. M.) — Fom know a 
good deal of these things." 

The following is in a pleasantcr key, and to those who intimately 
knew Mr. Wirt, and remember that constant tendency to playfulness, 



190 INCIDENTS OF THE TRIAL. :i807. 



ti 



wliich seemed to break forth even in his gravest moments, and ov 
of the bosom of his deepest study, it will bring him vividly to mind, i 
His friends will recall the musical voice and the quiet humour that, 
like a ray of mellow sunshine, lit up his eye, when an occasion for a 
lauMi mirrht be found in the course of a trial. 

A fifer, by the name of Gates, was under cross-examination. Some 
boats had been seized near Marietta. Gates was a militia-man on 
duty against the conspirators, and saw the seizure of the boats. 

" Mr. Wirt. — As far as I understand you, you were called on to 
attack the boats? 

" Jlnsioer. — Yes. 

" jMr. Wirt. — And you were called on to carry a musket ? 

" ^^nstcer. — Yes. 

" Mr. Wirt. — And you were unwilling to do it ? 

" Answer. — Yes. 

" Mr. Wirt. — That is, you were willing to whistle, and not to 
fight? 

" Answer. — Yes." 



CHAPTER XV. 

1807. 

public agitation. — THE AFFAIR OF THE LEOPARD AND CHESA- 
PEAKE. EXPECTATION OF WAR. FOURTH OF JULY. LETTER 

TO JUDGE TUCKER. VTIRT PROJECTS THE RAISING OF A LEGION. 

CORRESPONDENCE WITH CARR IN REGARD TO IT. THE PRO- 
JECT MEETS OPPOSITION. FINALLY ABANDONED. WAR AR- 
RESTED. THE EMBARGO. 

The country was agitated, in 1807, by other events of higher 
political import than Burr's conspiracy. 

A sentiment of hostility against England, provoked by her invasion 
of the neutral rights of American commerce with the continent of 
Europe, in the right of search, as it was then asserted, and by the 



Chap. XV.] THE LEOPARD AND CHESAPEAKE. 191 

impressment of American seamen under the flag of the United States, 
had been growing, for some few years, to such a predominance in the 
breast of the nation, as to render war a probable result, and a subject 
of popular commcut. The failure of Messrs. Monroe and Pinkney to 
adjust tliesc questions, and the refusal of Mr. Jeifcrson even to submit 
to the Senate the unsatisfactory treaty they had negotiated, contri- 
buted to increase the probability of a resort to arms. 

The outrage perpetrated, at this juncture, upon the national flag, in 
the aggression of the Leopard upon the Chesapeake, was, in itself, an 
insult of such flagrant enormity, as to rouse the universal indignation 
of the people to a demand for instant reparation. All previous topics 
of quarrel were merged in this; and nothing but the prompt and 
vigorous' measures taken by Mr. Jefferson, at the moment, restrained 
the country from an immediate declaration of war. 

It was on the 22d of June, when the Chesapeake fi'igate, standing 
out to sea from Norfolk, passed a British squadron at anchor in 
Lynnhaven bay. The Leopard, a frigate of fifty guns, belonging to 
the squadron, followed her, and overhauled her within a few miles of 
Cape Henry. Here a boat was sent with an officer and several men 
to demand of Captain Barron the surrender of three men, who were 
said to be aboard the Chesapeake, and who were claimed as native 
British subjects. Captain Barron's reply was, that he knew of no 
persons of that description amongst his crew. Upon receiving this 
answer, the British frigate still kept in pursuit of the Chesapeake, — 
fired, first, one gun, and then a broadside into her, which killed and 
wounded several men, besides doing some damage to the spars and 
rigging of the ship. The Chesapeake, being totally unprepared for 
an encounter which she had no reason to expect, was obliged to strike 
her flag, and to submit to the impressment and abduction of four of 
her crew.* The consequences which followed this event, gave a 
stirring interest to the time. 

*Tl)is unfortunate and mortifying incident has been the subject of too 
mucli comment to render it necessary to say more of it here; but, in justice 
to those v\ho were censured for the event, it is proper to add that at the 
moment of this attack, the Chesapeake was in a condition which totally dis 
abled her from resistance. She had been but a few hours out of port, and 
bad sailed with her decks lumbered -with great quantities of stores 
unstowed, which were ytt in this condition. This disorder, and want of 
organization in her crew, placed her entirely at the disposal of her enemj 



192 EXPECTATION OF WAR. [1807. | 

The President issued a proclamation ordering oiF the British 
squadron, and interdicting the waters of the United States to all 
British armed vessels. Detachments of militia were ordered to Nor- 
folk, to protect that point against a threatened attack. A govern- 
ment vessel was despatched to London, bearing instructions to our 
minister there to demand the satisfaction and security which the 
recent outrage rendered necessary. Every thing was done which the 
crisis required. 

This reference to the history of a grave national event may, per- 
haps, appear too stately an introduction to the comparatively trivial 
concern which a private citizen of that day had in the general ferment 
which it produced. In the humble sphere of individual participation, 
however, we may often read an authentic exposition of national senti- 
ment, and find the temper and spirit of the times illustrated quite as 
forcibly as in a nai-rative of a higher cast; — indeed, even more 
forcibly, and with more graphic effect. 

Richmond became a theatre of great agitation. Those martial 
fires, which slumber in the breast of every community, and which are 
so quickly kindled into flame by the breeze of stirring public events, 
now blazed, with especial ardour, amongst the youthful and venturous 
spirits of Virginia. Over the whole state, as, indeed, over the whole 
country, that combative principle which lies at the heart of all chivalry, 
began to develope itself in every form in which national sensibility is 
generally exhibited. The people held meetings, passed fiery resolu- 
tions, ate indignant dinners, drank belligerent toasts, and uttered 
threatening sentiments. Old armories were ransacked, old weapons 
of war were burnished anew, military companies were formed, regi- 
mentals were discussed, the drum and fife and martial bands of music 
woke the morning and evening echoes of town and country ; and the 
whole land was filled with the din, the clamour, the glittei", the array 
of serried hosts, which sprang up, like plants of a night, out of the 
bosom of a peaceful nation. The pruning-hook was, all of a sudden, 
converted into a spear. Patriotism found a vent in eloquence ; indo- 
lence an unwonted stimulus in the exciting appeals of the day, and 
the monotony of ordinary life a happy relief in the new duties which 
sprang out of the combination of citizen and soldier. 

Many are now living who remember this fervour. Twenty-five 



ti 



Chaf. XV.] FOURTH OF JULY. 193 

years had rolled over the Revolution. The generation which grew to 
manhood in this interval, were educated in all the reminiscences of 
the war of Seventy-six, which, fresh in the narratives of every fire-side, 
inflamed the imagination of the young with its thousand marvels of 
soldier-like adventure. These were told with the amplification and 
the unction characteristic of the veteran, and were heard by his youth- 
ful listener, with many a secret sigh, that such days of heroic hazards 
were not to return for him. The present generation is but faintly 
impressed with that worship of the Revolution which, before the war 
of 1812, gave a poetical character to its memories, and made it so 
joyful a subject for the imagination of those who lived to hear these 
fresh echoes of its glory. 

Now, in 1807, whilst these emotions still swayed the breast of the 
sons of those who had won the independence of the nation, the same 
enemy was about to confront them. The day that many had dreamed 
of was about to arrive ; and many a secret aspiration was breathed for 
a field to realize its hopes. To this sentiment we may attribute, in 
part, that quick rising of the people in 1807, which, but for the timely 
settlement of the difficulty, would, in a few months, have converted 
the whole country into a camp. 

Foremost amongst the enthusiasts of this day was William Wirt. 
We shall find him, very soon, absorbed in a scheme to raise a legion. 
He was to be at the head of four regiments of State troops, with a 
chosen corps of officers and men, whom, he did not doubt, were des- 
tined to become conspicuous in annals dedicated to posterity. For 
the present, we shall find him slaking his ardour in a song. 

The Fourth of July was to be celebrated in the neighbourhood of 
Richmond. Such an occasion, of course, no one could expect to pass 
without a full freight of those engrossing sentiments which were pe- 
culiarly inspired by the great topic, now first in the universal mind. 
Judge Tucker was a poet as well as a kindred spirit. He had wit- 
nessed the Revolution at an age capable of observation, and was still 
deeply imbued with all its passion. I find this letter : 



Vol. I. — 17 n 



194 FOURTH OF JULY. [1807. 

TO JUDGE TUCKER. 

Richmond, July 9, 1807. 
My Dear Sir : 

How is your muse ? If in mounting mood, bow would you gratify 
me, and enable me to gratify otbers, on Saturday, by a song on tbe 
day, embracing tbe late gallant exploit of tbe Leopard ! Come, I 
know you can easily dasb off sucb a piece. It would be no more tban 
one of tbe ordinary overflowings of your spirit versified; and rliyme, 
McPbcrson says, is merely a mecbanical business, to wbicb, wben a 
man bas served an apprenticesbip, tbere is no more labour of inven- 
tion about it tban Mr. Didgbury exercises in making a pair of pumps. 

Our excursion, to-morrow morning, to tbe point of tbe beautiful bill 
wbicb overbangs tbe Market valley, would till you witb tbe concep- 
tion. All tbe rest is mere manipulation. 

I could learn tbe song on Saturday morning. If you come into 
tbis idea, as I suppose tbe metre is a mere matter of moonsbiue to 
you, I would propose that in wbicb tbe Deatb of Montgomery, and 
tbe Battle of Trenton, are written. Lest you sbould not recollect 
tbcse, I will give you tbe only verse of tbe latter tbat I remember. 
Here it is : 

"Our object was tlie Hessian banil, 
That dar'd to invade fair freedom's land 

And quarter in lliat place. 
Great Washington he led us on, 
With ensigns streaming with renown, 
Which ne"er had known disgrace." 

By-tbe-bye, it is tbe metre of " Tbe Mason's Daugbter," wbicb I 
am sure you know. Let me bear wbetber you will do tbis tbing — 
yea or nay ? 

Will you let me have a copy of your song in honour of Washing- 
ton ? I beard it but once. I think it goes to the tune of " Tbe 
Death of Wolfe." It describes Liberty as taking her flight from the 
shores of Albion, and lighting here. You will know, by this, which 
I mean. 

Very sincerely. 

Your friend and obed't servant, 

Wm. Wirt. 

The answer is given by the Judge in the following memorandum, 
endorsed in his own handwriting, upon the outer page of this letter. 

''July 2, 1807. I called on Mr. Wirt this morning, and found 
tbis letter upon his table. He said ' there is a letter for you.' I had 
in my pocket the lines written for the fourth of this month, which I 
intended for him, without any previous communication between us, 
and gave them to him." 



Chap. XV.] PREPARATION FOR WAR. 195 

The lines furnislicd on this occasion breathe that spirit of bitter 
remembrance of the Revolutionary war, to which I have alluded, 
heightened into still warmer exacerbation, by the audacity of the 
recent aggression upon the Chesapeake. Happily, these feuds are 
now forgotten in the tranquillity engendered by that sentiment of 
mutual respect and appreciation of national and individual worth, 
which, we trust, will long distinguish the intercourse between the two 
countries. At the date of the events above referred to, the joy of the 
nation in the triumph of the war of Independence, had lost nothing 
of its sternness ; whilst, on the other side, the sting of wounded pride 
had not yet been assuaged by time.* 

* Not to open an old wound, but to preserve a memorial of the times and 
of the spirit of defiance, which was universally returned from this country 
to its proudest and most powerful enemy, I present my reader a copy of 
Judge Tucker's verses, which were sung, at the celebration alluded to ia 
the text, by a voice noted for its melody. 

"Tyrant! again we hear thy hostile voice, 

Again, upon our coasts, thy cannon's roar, 
Again, for peace, thou leavest us no choice, 

Again, we hurl defiance from our shore. 

Hast thou forgot the day when Warren bled, 

Whilst hecatombs around were sacrificed? 
Hast thou forgot thy legions captive led. 

Thy navies blasted by a foe despised ? 

Or think'st thou, we've forgot our brothers slain, 

Our aged fathers weltering in their gore? 
Our widowed mothers on their knees, in vain, 

Their violated daughters' fate deplore? 

Our friends, in prison-ships and dungeons chained. 
To summer's suns and winter's frost exposed; 

Insulted, starved, amidst disease detained. 
Till death the mtal scene of horrors closed! 

Our towns in ashes laid, our fields on fire, 
Our wives and children flying from the foe ! 

Ourselves in battle ready to expire. 

Yet struggling still to strike another blow ! 

Know then, this day recalls to us the whole: 
And hear our solemn and determined voice; 

In vain, proud tyrant, shall thy thunders roll. 
Since, once more, death or victory 's our choice." 



196 PREPARATION FOR WAR. [1807. 

A short note to Carr explains the progress of the war fever. Mr. 
Cabell was, at this time, Grovernor of the state. The note refers to <] 
proceedings in his Council. 

Richmond, July 2, 1807. 
Deaii Carr : 

* * We are on tiptoe for war. I write this in 

the antechamber, where we are waiting the final resolve of the Coun- 
cil, on detaching a portion of us to support our brethren at Norfolk. 
When more composed, I will write to you at large. 

The prospect of war had now filled Wirt's imagination with dreams 
of military life. His correspondence is fraught with schemes of mar- 
tial life. His \aews of public affairs, as communicated in some of 
these letters, will probably amuse the reader of the present day, by 
their exhibition of the feelings of the time, and the extravagant 
expectations which the ferment of the public mind then suggested. 

From 1807, until the event actually occurred in 1812, the martial 
temper of the country was kept in an excitement, which was much 
more likely to terminate in war than conciliation. Wirt had, previous 
to this period, held the commission of a major in a militia regiment. 
At the last session of the Legislature, he had been put in nomination 
for the post of a Brigadier-General, and had only lost the election by 
a few votes. 

The affair of the Chesapeake had led him to expect military ser- 
vice in the field ; and he now, consequently, turned his thoughts to- 
wards an effective employment in a war which he considered inevitable. 
To this end, he set himself about the organization of a plan to raise 
the Legion to which I have already adverted. In the several letters 
which I have on this subject, I find him totally engrossed with the 
project, and pursuing it with an earnestness, which shows how much 
his mind was captivated with the fancy of military glory. I select a 
few of these letters, with a view to a rapid sketch of this passage in 
his personal history. They contain details of the plan of the Legion, 
and an announcement of what was expected to be achieved, which 
now, after the experience of the country towards the realization of 
these fancies of 1807, will be read with curious interest, and, per- 
haps, be valued for the comment they suggest for our instruction, 
when we find occasion to contrast the promises of the day, with the 
performances of the future. 



Chap. XV.] LETTER TO CARR. 197 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

RiciiMo.N-D, July 19, 1807. 
My Dear Friend : 

I promised that you should hear from me again, and more at length 
than -when I wrote by Stanard. I sit down now to comply with that 
engagement. 

3jC 5{C ^ ^ ^ 'I^ 

On receiving the President's proclamation officially, the British 
ships in Hampton Koads weighed anchor, the Commodore saying that 
he had previously determined to change his anchorage, and that he 
was the master of his own movements. They sailed out of the capes. 
Richard H. Lee was sent by Mathews, to carry to Douglass, despatches 
from Erskine, and from the British Consul at Norfolk. When he 
approached them he was hailed, and asked if he did not know that all 
intercourse between the main and the squadron was prohibited ? He 
said he did ; but that he bore important communications, which ren- 
dered it proper that he should come on board. He was then admitted 
on deck, delivered his despatches, and the Commodore asked him into 
the cabin, where the other British officers were immediately assem- 
bled. After they had read the despatches, they began to interrogate 
him thus ; " Well, sir, is the mob down in Norfolk, or is it still up ?" 
" Has the 7nob assassinated the British Consul yet?" " What are we 
to make of this Mathews — at one moment he is a general, at the next, 
the chairman of a mob?" Lee tried to discourage this conversation, 
but it only provoked them to greater rudeness. 

Two of the British ships have since put out to sea. The other two 
still remain off the capes. 

The Executive has recalled the companies of infantry which marched 
from this place and Petersburg. The two troops of horse from these 
places will remain with Mathews, for the purpose of scouring the 
coast, and repelling any attempt to land. 

I was here when the companies from this place marched, and was 
in Williamsburg, when the company of horse marched thence to Nor- 
folk. It had not, indeed, all of the glorious " pride, pomp and cir- 
cumstance," — but it smacked "of war." The companies were uni- 
formed, their arms newly burnished. They had an elegant stand of 
colours, and a most delightfully animating band of music. Accom- 
panied by an escort of the militia of Ri-chmond, and the company of 
artillery, marching in files, they traversed the main street through 
almost its whole length. All this would have been merely a Fourth 
of July parade ; but what gave it the tragic face of war was, that 
every window, from the ground to the third and fourth story, was filled 
with weeping females. 

Do vou think that these people will do us the justice they ought ? 
• 17 * 



198 PLAN OF A LEGION. [1807. 

The exasperated spirit of this nation -will not be satisfied with a min- 
isterial disavowal ; nor with an English farce of a trial of Berkeley 
and Humphreys, a complimentary return of their swords, and higher 
promotion. 

Even if they were to convict and execute Berkeley or Humphreys, 
or both, — I confess, for my own part, that I should be very dubious 
wliether they were not giving us the second part of the tragedy 
of poor Byng, so firmly am I persuaded that this atrocious outrage 
flowed from the Cabinet. 

According to my notion of things, if the ministry disavow the out- 
rage, the offenders should be given up to be tried in this country. I 
see this right disclaimed by a northern press, (perhaps a republican 
one) and, I think, very improperly. The paper disclaims it, because 
the violence was not committed within our jurisdiction ; but if it be 
true, that the violence done to the Chesapeake was out of our territo- 
rial line, yet the Chesapeake, herself, wherever she was, being a na- 
tional ship, was part of our territory ; and this, I think, is not the 
less true, because it was demonstrated, perhaps, by John Marshall, in 
the case of Jonathan Bobbins. If it be true at all, the oflfenders 
ought to be tried in this country, on the principles of national, as well 
as common law. If tried here, Berkeley and Humphreys will have it 
in their power to show whether they acted by the orders of their mas- 
ters. If they did, they ought to be acquitted, and their masters pun- 
ished. If they did not, they would themselves be certainly punished. 
Neither of which events would happen, if tried in England. 

I think nothing less ought to, or will satisfy the people of this coun- 
try, than the surrender of Berkeley and Humphreys for trial. And as 
I believe that British arrogance will never condescend to this act of 
justice, I believe war to be inevitable. 

In this event, I presume that our profession will be of but little 
importance to us. 

If so, what will 3-ou do with yourself? Not sit idly at hon>e, I 
presume. For my part, I am resolved. I shall yield back my wife 
to her father, pro tempore^ to which the old gentleman has agreed, 
and I shall march. 

Now, Sir : "Shut the door," — what follows is in the strictest con- 
fidence of friendship, never to be hinted to 9, living soul, unless you 
come into it, and it takes effect. There are some "choice spirits," 
(di phrase which I am sorry that Burr has polluted,) who have agreed 
to raise four volunteer regiments, to be formed into a brigade. "VVe 
begin with four colonels, — who are nominated, and of whom you are 
proposed to be one. — These colonels to nominate their majors and 
captains, to be approved of by all the colonels. The object is to 
make the selection as distinguished for talent, spirit and character as 
possible : to have no officer merely because his heart is good ; nor 
merely because his understanding is good ; but to have, in him, a 



Chap. XV] LETTER TO CARR. 199 

union, as perfect as possible, of understanding, heart, good temper, 
and morals. It is to be explicitly understood, that no man is to be 
admitted, even into the ranks, unless his morals are good. Thus 
organized, what a brigade ! 

It is proposed to make an oifer of these four regiments to the Pre- 
sident, under the act of Congress which authorizes him to accept of 
the service of volunteers. By that act, the volunteer officers are to 
be commissioned by their respective states. This, there is no doubt, 
the Executive Council of the state will do, so f;ir as the commissions 
of colonel ; they have no power to appoint a brigadier-general. ]3ut 
there is as little doubt that the Legislature will confer that office on 
the colonel who holds the first commission. The colonels proposed, 
are — A. Stuart, a member of the Council, who, notwithstanding his 
deficiency in the graces, has, you know, as sound a judgment, and as 
ardent a heart as ever did honour to humanity — John Clarke, the 
Superintendent of the Manufactory of Arms, one of the fii-st geniuses 
and best men of the state — yourself and myself. They have done 
me the honour to insist that I shall take the fu-st commission. We 
are not to leave our homes until called into actual service by the Pre- 
sident. 

You will let me liear from you, if possible, by the return of mail, 
as Stuart is going on next Monday to Annapolis, on business, and is 
willing to take the Federal City on his way, to commune with the 
President. 

If you accord, authorize me, by letter, to sign your name to the 
association. 

Any thing else, after this, will be flat — so no more^ but, with love 
to Mrs. C. and your brothers, 

Adieu, your friend, 

"Wm. Wirt. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

. Richmond, July 28, 1807. 

Your expected favour, by the last mail, was every thing I could 
wish. Stuart had gone to Hanover Court, on his way to Washing- 
ton ; he was not, therefore, here, to consult on the subject of suffering 
you to exchange the rank of fourth colonel for that of first major, in 
the first regiment. 

I read your letter to Clarke : he was so much enraptured with your 
sentiments, that he swore the exchange should not take place by his 
consent. I, therefore, signed your name to a letter which I had writ- 
ten to the President, containing our joint proposal, and despatched it 
to Stuart, at Hanover, by the mail of last evening. 

If the President shall'be at Washington when the letter gets there, 
it will be presented : otherwise, I have requested Stuart not to leave 



200 EFFORTS TO FORM THE LEGION. [1807 

it ; stating to him, that you appear to entertain serious doubts of your 
ability to raise a regiment ; that you propose Nelson, and state your 
willingness to accept a majority in my regiment : that, for your sake, 
I could wish that this point might be considered by us on his return : 
that, in the meantime, I should authorize you, if your apprehensions 
still continued, to sound Nelson, distantly and delicatelj^, and ascer- 
tain, with certainty, whether he would take the rank of fourth colonel 
in the brigade, without any shadow of repining at his station. 

The arrangement which we have made must not be broken, and I 
am apprehensive, that Nelson, although he might consent to join, 
would entertain a secret wish that the arrangement had given him a 
higher position. Now, in order to give to the brigade that unity of 
spirit and motion, which are indispensable to its energy as well as 
harmony, it is necessary that every man should be not only contented, 
but pleased with his peculiar station. One discontented and perturbed 
spirit, especiallj^ in a high command, would not onl}^ mar our happi- 
ness, but endanger the powerful effect which we hope and expect. If, 
therefore, you shall retain your apprehensions as to raising a regiment, 
after what I shall presently say, you can, if you please, feel-N.'s pulse, 
to ascertain whether he would, with all his soul, come into it, and 
take the station proposed to him in a brigade, to be organised on the 
principles of ours. 

You will understand that this sounding is predicated upon the sup- 
position that the President shall have left Washington before Stuart 
gets there ; for if Stuart finds him there, you are committed. 

In the event of Nelson's being taken in as colonel, j'ou will be my 
first major; and, when I take the command of the brigade, you will, 
of course, take the head of my regiment, which is the first regi- 
ment. 

But now, as to the practicability of forming a regiment, that will 
depend less on the personal popularity of the colonel, than of his 
subalterns. You will, for example, appoint your majors and captains, 
with the approbation of your brother colonels. In making these 
appointments, you will have the range of the state ; you will appoint 
one major in one part of the state, another, in another : diffuse the 
appointment of captains as widely as possible, so as to increase the 
chances of a rapid formation of your regiment; these captains will 
appoint their subalterns; and on the captain and his inferior officers, 
will depend the success of enlistments. That you, as the colonel, are 
a man of talents, honour, education, good breeding, courage and hu- 
manity, will be information enough to the soldiers. 

Besides, sir, as soon as we are commissioned, I mean to have two 
or three hundred hand-bills struck, explanatory of the principles on 
which our brigade will be constructed ; and painting it in perspective 
as brilliantly as my paini-ljox and brushes can do it ; these will be 
circulated, first to the colonels, through them to the majors, and 



Chap. XV.J THE LEGION. 201 

through them to the captains and subalterns, to be read at every pub- 
lic meeting of courts, musters, &c. 

On the efficacy of this address — on the conduct of your majoi's, 
captains, &c., dispersed over the state, I think you may securely count 
for a regiment; more especially, when your own unsullied and re- 
spectable name is known to key the arch. 

If, after all this, you doubt, and the President should be at Slonti- 
collo, and you prefer Nelson, if he comes into it con amore, he will 
be excellent. 

* * * * * it 

The Governor has written to the President in support of our letter 
— ca ira. 

Yours, 

Wm. Wirt. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, August 12, 1807. 
My Dear Chevalier : 

The act of Congress, of the 24th February last, authorizes a tender 
of volunteer services to the President by companies ; and directs him 
to organize the companies, so tendered, into battalions, regiments and 
brigades : hence it is thought that commissions to majors and colonels 
cannot issue, until he shall have received the tender of your companies, 
and made the requisite organization. 

Enclosed you have commissions for the seven captains whom you 
have named, with a circular letter for each. You will require two 
more captains, whom you will name by the return of mail ; and you 
will, as early as possible, name the lieutenants and ensigns in each 
company. 

Upon this subject you had better take the opinion of each captain, 
as they will probably best know the officers qualified for the recruiting 
service in their respective neighbourhoods. In the meantime, the 
persons so designated as lieutenants and ensigns, can immediately 
assist the captains in recruiting ; understanding, however, that their 
commissions will depend on the approbation of the Executive Council 
of the State. If approved, their commissions will be immediately 
forwarded. 

If either of your captains decline, name another, as soon as pos- 
sible, in his place, and your brothers here will take care of his com- 
mission. 

Charge your captains, particularly, to recruit no drunkard and no 
unprincipled gambler. Let them, as far as possible, recruit only 
young men, (I mean without families, and under six and thirty — at 
all events, not over forty) of good size and healthy. It would be 



202 THE LEGION. [1807' 

fortunate if each company could be completed in the same uei^hbour-i 
hood, for the convenience of exercising it. 

The men will understand that they will not be called from theip" 
several neighbourhoods and pursuits, until called out by the President! 
into actual service. 

They ought to understand that the war cannot, in the nature of ■ 
things, be a long one. A single campaign will probably give us, 
Canada and Nova Scotia : so that while an engagement for the tvar 
will be more honourable, it will probably not be more oppressive than 
an engagement for twelve months — (and much I fear that the glory 
of this achievement will be given to the states immediately in the 
British neighbourhood : — Canada and Nova Scotia taken, little more 
will remain, unless Great Britain, by conquest, should open another 
theatre in the South : — this parenthesis is to you.) 

******* 

The substance of our letter to the President will be found in the 
enclosed circular. < 

The companies recruited, will furnish themselves with the cheapi 
militia uniform of the state, of which any captain will advise you; 
and for which, if they are called out into service, they will be paid by 
the United States. 

On the subject of recruiting among other volunteers, you will heari 
further from us. 

The hour of Buit's trial is come. He has exhausted the panel, 
and elected only four jurors, Ed. Carrington, Hugh Mercer, R. E. 
Parker, (the Judge's grandson) and Lambert, of this place. 

Your brothers greet you, 

Wm. Wirt. 

We have now some signs of miscarriage. Glory has its untoward 
currents as well as love. The war seems to have been transferred to 
the newspapei's, 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, September 1, 1807. 
My Dear Dabney : 

Sick, as I have been for several days, and harassed by the pro- 
gress of Burr's aifair, I have but a minute to answer your favour by 
the last mail. 

******* 

We have certainly been deceived, if not in the virtue at least in 
the understanding of our countrymen. In spite of the repeated | 
efForta wliich have been made to explain the motives and object of 
our association, and its non-interference with militia dignities, they 



iChap. XV.] THE LEGION. 203 

still misapprehend it, or affect to misapprehend it. We are right in 
princijile, and must disregard this " ardor prava jvbcntiiwi." 

Several companies in the lower country are filled up, or nearly so ; 
and I think the wave of prejudice is retiring. A letter of the 
Governor, in reply to one from a militia-officer making inquiries as to 
this Legion, will be published to-day, by order of Council, and will, I 
hope, give the coup de grace to this ignorant or vicious opposition. 

My sickness, and professional engagements together, have pre- 
vented me from giving to this subject, for some time past, that per- 

: soual atte ntion wh ich I wis hed. 

^ ^ ^ , ^ ^ ^ ^ 

Marshall has stepped in between Burr and death. He has pro- 
nounced an opinion that our evidence is all irrelevant. Burr not 
having been present at the island with the assemblage, and the act 
itself not amounting to levying war. 

The jui-y, thus sent out without evidence, have this day returned a 
verdict, in substance, of not guilty. 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 



The next letter looks to the conquest of Quebec. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, September 8, 1807. 
My Dear Friend : 

Mr. Randolph's project is better calculated than ours to go on 
swimmingly at first. Wait till the election of his officers, and the 
period of their services is fixed, and you will discover the discordia 
nemina rerum which his plan contains. In our plan, no source of 
delusive hope and consequent disgust and disappointment exists. All 
who join us will know, with certainty, what they undertake; none 
but ardent and aspiring spirits will join us, because we go for the war : 
we shall have no six months soldier whose heart and face will be 
turned towards home every step that he takes towards Canada, and 
whose dragging, lengthening chain will be almost too heavy to be 
borne by him before he gets half-way to Quebec. 

I begin to apprehend that there will be no war. The blood of our 
countrymen has been washed from the decks of the Chesapeake, and 
we have never learned how to bear malice. Besides, Bonaparte will 
drub and frighten the British into the appearance, at least, of good 
humour with us. 

I think, however, we had better urge oa our brigade till our govern- 



204 MISCARRIAGE. [1807. 

merit orders us to ground our army. The progi-ess we shall make 
will be so much ground gained in the event of a new explosion. 

You will see the opinion by which JMarshall stopped the trial for 
treason. The trial for misdemeanour will begin to-day. It will soon ' 
be stopped : then a motion to commit and send on to Kentucky, ; 
which will not be heard. I 

Yours, 

Wm. Wirt. 

From the philosophical tone of our next extract, we infer that the 
Legion and its hopes had fallen into some danger of extinction from 
the jealousy entertained against it by the militia of the state. This 
seems to have been the fii'st event in the life of the writer which gave 
him a taste of the disappointments to which all ambitious aspirations 
are exposed, and therefore to have filled his mind with reflections 
which were not less natural to the occasion than of a character to be 
frequently repeated in the course of his succeeding years. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, September 14, 1807. 
My Dear Friend: 

As to the Legion, it has given me a new view of human nature and 
of my countrymen ; and has, I confess, filled my heart with the most 
melancholy presages for their future destiny. So easily misled and 
so easily inflamed, even against their friends, what difiiculty will an 
artful villain ever have in wieldina; them even to their own ruin ? 

This is a new incentive to virtue. It is into our own hearts that 
we are, at last, to look for happiness. It is the only source on which 
we can count with infallible certainty. These truths, so long preached 
by philosophers and divines, were never before brought home so 
strongly to my conviction as by the example of this Legion. 

Thank God ! we are not withoiit this source of happiness on the 
present occasion. 

But what is to become of the people ? what is to become of the re- 
public, since they are thus easily to be duped ? 

These are subjects which suggest most jminful anticipations to me ; 
ibr it seems that no rectitude, no patriotism of intention, can shield a 
man even from censure and execration. And the people, who them- 
selves mean to do what is right, are still capable of being so deluded 
as to think it proper, and even virtuous, to censure and execrate a 
man for an act, not only flowing from the purest motives, but really 
well judged for their benefit and happiness. 



Chap. XV,] POLITICAL REFLECTIONS. 205 

How hard is !<■■ for a republican to admit the truth, that a patriotic 
aud judicious action may, nevertheless, draw down upon its authors 
the disapprobation, the censure, and even the curses, of the people ! 
That no argument, no appeal to reason and law and right, can save 
him from the consequences ! Yet it is certainly true. 

It requires some effort in a man, who receives this conviction from 
experience, to prevent him from drawing himself into his shell, and 
caring only about himself. * *• * But then, 

if every virtuous man should take that resolution, the theatre would 
be given up to villains solely, and we should soon all go to perdition 
together; and this would not be quite so palatable. So, we must do 
our duty, and leave the issues to Heaven. If the people curse us, our 
own hearts will bless us; ^'if we have troubles at sea, boys, we have 
pleasures on shore." And, admitting all these alloys, what form of 
government is there that has not more and worse ? So " we bring up 
the lee-way with a wet sail," as poor Frank Walker used to say. 

We are balancing on the point of yielding the legionary scheme, so 
far as the field-officers are concerned. Consult Nelson, and let me 
hear what you think of it. 

The second prosecution against Burr is at an end; Marshall haa"^ 
asrain arrested the evidence. 

A motion will be made to commit him and his confederates for trial 
In Kentucky, or wherever else the judge shall, from the whole evi-^ 
^enee, believe their crimes to have been committed. 

There is no knowing what will become of the motion. I believe it 
vfill be defeated: — sic transit, &c. 
In haste, 

Yours affectionately, 

Wm. Wirt, 

The Legion lias now become hopeless. It can only be revived by 
Great Britain ; — as we may read in the next letter. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, September 22, 1807. 
My Dear Dabnev: 

I have a moment, only, to acknowledge yours of the 18 th inst. 

The abandonment of the legionary scheme, which I suggested for 
your consideration in my last, was proposed by some of our friends iu 
the country; and while we were considering it, I thought it proper 
that you should consider it too. 

It is my own opinion that there would be more dignity, as well as 
propriety, in our withdrawing. But the majority here urge, with some 
reason, that we stand committed to the captains who have accepted, 

Vol. I. — 18 



206 THE LEGION ABANDONED. ^ [1807. 

and should infringe the express terms of the contract which we our- 
selves i^roposed, by deserting them afc this time. * 

It seems to be the opinion that, under these circumstances, we had 
better sufier the scheme to die a natural death. 

It is not even yet despaired but that the plan may be executed. 
From Gloucester, Essex, Stafford and Fredericksburg, we have flatter- 
ins accounts that the storm is subsiding. 

It depends, I suspect, on Great Britain, whether the Legion will be 
ever filled up. 

In very great haste, my dear D., 

I am yours ut semper^ 

"Wm. Wirt. 

This is the end of a martial dream. Wirt and Carr were both in 
their thirty-fifth year ; an age when men may be trusted to make good 
any promise of adventure. They were both very much in earnest in 
the scheme. The reader will smile at the double current of war and 
law which runs through these letters ; the afiairs of the forum in the 
morning, of the camp in the evening; a twofold engrossment, very 
taking to the fancy of Wirt. A special session of Congress was called 
by the President, to commence on the 26 th of October. It was sup- 
posed that this session would take up the question of the Chesapeake 
in such a spirit as would lead to a declaration of war. That expecta- 
tion had already yielded to an opposite conviction, produced by a dis- 
avowal of the act of the British commander by his government. The 
prospect of settling the pending differences by negotiation became 
almost certain. The result was, that the war was indefinitely post- 
poned. Amongst other consequences of this event, the hopes of the 
Legion and its proprietor gradually faded away in the somewhat clouded 
atmosphere of a doubtful peace. 

Instead of war, the country had an Embargo. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

1808. 

INCREASING REPUTATION. MR. JEFFERSON PROPOSES TO HIM TO 

GO INTO CONGRESS. HE DECLINES. DETERMINES TO ADHERE 

TO HIS PROFESSION. — HE DEFENDS MR. MADISON AGAINST THE 

PROTEST. LETTERS OF " ONE OP THE PEOPLE.'' UNEXPECTEDLY 

PUT IN NOMINATION FOR THE LEGISLATURE. LETTER TO MRS. 

W. ON THIS EVENT. HIS REPUGNANCE TO IT. IS ELECTED.— 

CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. MONROE. — LETTERS TO CARR AND 
EDWARDS. 

The reputation which Wirt acquired by his participation in the trial 
of Aaron Burr, had a conspicuous effect upon his subsequent career. 
That trial had summoned to Richmond a great concourse of spectators, 
amongst whom were many men of the highest distinction in the State 
of Virginia, and, indeed, in the Union. The court-house was thronged 
with crowds capable of forming the best judgment upon the merits of 
the counsel, and of doing full justice to their several ability. The 
cases were argued with careful preparation and masterly skill. The 
whole doctrine of treason, both as known to the law of England and as 
defined in the Constitution of the United States, was fully discussed, 
and the leading decisions of both countries were analyzed, with an 
acumen which impresses the reader of the report with the highest 
respect for the talent enlisted in the cause. 

The opinions of those who witnessed the trial, and the impressions 
made by it upon all who read the proceedings at a distance from the 
scene, equally tended to elevate the professional standing of the coun- 
sel : of neither more than of Mr. Wirt. Indeed, judging from the 
notoriety which portions of his speech acquired through the public 
press, we may say that no one of the counsel profited as much by it 
as he did. 

His popularity in Richmond thus greatly enhanced, seems to have 

. (207) 



208 LETTER FROM MR. JEFFERSON. [1808.. 

i 

suggested an attempt to bring him into public life. Mr. JeflFerson;' 
expressed an earnest wish to him ou this subject, in which he was j 
seconded by many of his political friends. | 

The following letter from the President, now approaching the last! 
year of his second term, shows the high estimate he made of Mr.. 
Y\'^irt's qualifications for political service, 

Washington, January 10, 1808. 
Dear Sir : 

* * * * ^«- * 

I suspected, from your desire to go into the army, that you disliked 
your profession, notwithstanding that your prospects in it were inferior 
to none in the State. Still, I knew that no profession is open to 
stronger antipathies than that of the law. The object of this letter, 
then, is to propose to you to come into Congress. That is the great 
commanding theatre of this nation, and the threshold to whatever de- 
partment of office a man is qualified to enter. With your reputation, 
talents and correct views, used with the necessary prudence, you will 
at once be placed at the head of the republican body in the House of 
Representatives : and after obtaining the standing which a little time 
will insure you, you may look, at your own will, into the military, the 
judiciary, diplomatic or other civil departments, with a certainty of 
being in either whatever you please ; and, in the present state of what 
may be called the eminent talents of our country, you may be assured 
of being engaged, through life, in the most honoui-able employments. 
If you come in at the next election, you will begin your course with 
a new administration. 

■X- -Jf -s -Sf «• -X- 

By supporting them, you will lay for yourself a broad foundation in 
the public confidence, and, indeed, you will become the Colossus of 
the republican government of your country. I will not say that pub- 
lic life is the line for making a fortune ; but it furnishes a decent and 
honourable support, and places one's children on good grounds for 
public favour. The family of a beloved father will stand with the 
public on the most favourable grounds of competition. Had General 
Washington left children, what would have l)een denied to them ? 

Perhaps I ought to apologize for the frankness of this communica- 
tion. It proceeds from an ardent zeal to see this government (the idol 
of my soul) continue in good hands, and from a sincere desire to see 
you whatever you wish to be. To this apology I shall only add my 
friendly salutations and assurances of sincere esteem and respect. 

Tii. jErrERSON. 

This very flattering invitation, from one so eminently distinguished 



fe 



CuAF. XVI.] WIRT'S ANSWER. 209 

as the writer of it, to a career which we may suppose, at this time, to 
have been fully open to Mr. Wirt, and which, in itself, is usually re- 
garded as sufficiently attractive to men of talents, was promptly an- 
swered by him to whom it was addressed, in a tone of so much pru- 
dence, and with such deliberate estimate of the duties he owed to 
himself and his family, as to present an example of self-denial but 
seldom witnessed in one who might have found in the invitation so 
many persuasives to accept it. 

Wirt was now in the very meridian of vigorous manhood, — a time 
of life when the ardour of youthful ambition is not only unabated, but 
even more confident, by the conscious strength of experience and 
knowledge of the world. 

TC. THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

Richmond, January 14, 1808. 
Dear Sir : 

I fear you have forgotten my disposition, since you seem to think 
your favour of the 10th might require an apology. It is to me oblig- 
ing and grateful beyond expression. I cannot better deserve your 
good opinion than by answering your proposition in the same spirit of 
frankness in which it was made. 

My desire to go into the army proceeded from no dislike of my pro- 
fession. It arose from the impulse which electrified the continent. 
In acting under it, I overlooked domestic inconveniences which, in 
this calmer proposal of going into Congress, present themselves with 
irresistible force. I have a wife and children entirely unprovided for. 
They subsist on the running profits of my practice. The instant this 
ceases, they must either starve or be thrown on the charity of their 
relations. This also would be the effect of ray going into the army. 
But a state of war demands many sacrifices which can never be neces- 
sary in a time of peace. The war, too, I supposed could not last more 
than two or three campaigns — at least upon land ; after which I might 
return to my practice; whereas the political career fixes my destiny 
for life. In entering it, although I should have the good fortune to 
reap all the high honours and advantages which your obliging good 
opinion has suggested, yet old age will come upon me, and find my 
wife and children as destitute of provision as they are now. I think 
it my duty to endeavour to guard against this, and, as soon as I can, 
to place them in a situation in which my death would not beggar them. 
" It is then that I might enter, with advantage, on public life. I 
should be better informed and better known ; and independence of 
fortune might save me from those cruel and diabolical insinuations 
18 ''^ <) 



210 REFUSES PUBLIC LIFE. [1808. 

whicli I liave sometimes seen in the debates of Congress and in the 
public prints. 

The situation of our amiable and beloved countryman, who has just 
returned from a foreign mission, to meet the most perplexing embar- 
rassments, of a private nature, at home, is an awful lesson on the sub- 
ject of devoting one's self to his country before he shall have securedl 
an independent retreat for old age : nothing, indeed, can be more en- 
dearing than that devotion. 

«■ * * -X- «■ -;(• 

I may add, that were my fortune other than it is, there is not in 
life a course on which I would enter with more spirit and ardour than 
that to which you invite me. The government is most dear to my i 
affections. Its practicability, its energy, its dignity — the protection, 
prosperity and happiness which it insures, are now demonstrated. And 
after your retirement, the pure and enlightened man to whom we look 
as your successor, will, in my opinion, have no equal on the theatre 
of public life. Yet, notwithstanding this, I am sure that you will 
approve my motive in adhering to the practice of the law. 
I am, dear sir, most respectfully, 

Your obedient servant. 
. Wm. "Wirt. 

Refusing in this firm and respectful manner the alluring offer which 
was made to him, Wirt, nevertheless, was far from being an uncon- 
cerned or inactive spectator of the public events. The time had now 
arrived when Mr. Jefferson was about to retire from the Presidency, 
and the nation was deeply interested in the purpose of nominating his 
successor. The democratic party, of which Mr. Jefferson was the 
head, had generally directed their attention to the secretary of state, 
Mr. I^Iadison, as the man most worthy of the eminent trust which was 
about to be vacated. There were, however, some dissentients in that 
party, opposed to this nomination. At the head of these was John 
Randolph, of Roanoke. Certain members of Congress, of whom Mr. 
Randolph was one, had published a paper which purported to be ''A 
Protest" against the proceedings of a caucus, then recently held by 
the majority of the republican members of the two houses at Wash- 
ington, in which Mr. Madison had been nominated as the candidate. 
'J'his Protest came from a fragment of the republican party itself^, and 
threatened a distinctive division, which might finally lead to the over- 
throw of the friends of the existing administration. Mr. Madison was 
the principal object of their attack, and he was arraigned before the 



Chap. XVI.] ONE OF THE PEOPLE. 211 

public in terms of gi-eat severity. The principal charges brought 
against him were founded, first, in his report upon the Yazoo claims, 
"recommending," as the Protest aflarmed, "a shameful bargain with 
the unprincipled speculators of the Yazoo companies;" second, in an 
allesed "want of energy" of character; and, lastly, in his participa- 
'tion in the authorship of "The Federalist," with Jay and Hamilton. 

Such a paper, put forth at this time, was looked upon by the great 
body of the republicans with deep concern. This party had now been 
in power eight years. The retirement of Mr. Jefferson presented the 
first occasion for a struggle to reassert the supremacy of the party 
which he had overthrown. The public affairs were in a most critical 
position, hovering between peace and war. Powerful enemies were 
in arms abroad. Great talent was skilfully combined at home against 
the administration. But the people were strong in the advocacy of 
the party in power, and could only be defeated, in their hope of main- 
taining it, by such untoward events as this division of their leaders 
seemed likely to encourage and direct. 

In this state of things, Wirt took up his pen in defence of the deci- 
sion of the caucus, and addressed three letters "to the Protestors," 
through the medium of the Enquirer, at Eichmond. * These letters 
were signed " One of the People." As they convey a fixvourable im- 
pression of the author's talents for political controversy ; and as they 
refer to some interesting facts of public history, as well as to some 
questions of political conduct ; and present a most spirited and appro- 
priate defence of one of the ablest and best of American statesmen, 
the reader, it is presumed, will find sufficient interest in the topics, to 
be gratified with the perusal of the following extracts. 

These letters are addressed to Joseph Clay, Abraham Trigg, John 
Russell, Josiah Masters, G-eorge Clinton, Jr., Gurdon S. Mumford, 
John Thompson, Peter Swart, Edwin Gray, W. Hoge, Samuel Smith, 
Daniel Montgomery, John Harris, Samuel Maclay, David E. Wil- 
liams, James M. Garnett and John Randolph. 

" One of the people of the United States, to whom you have lately 
addressed yourselves, through the medium of the press, returns jou 
his acknowledgments through the same channel, and, as one of your 
constituents, he expects to be heard by j'ou in his turn. An appeal 
to the nation, by their representatives in Congress, and that under so 
solemn a form as a protest, strikes the attention and command? 



212 ONE OF THE PEOPLE. U808 1 

respect. The parliamentary protest in England has generally been 
the act of a patriotic minority, resisting, in behalf of the people, the 
cori'upt policy and hold encroachments of the minister. We have 
been accustomed to see and to feel in those protests the genuine flame 
of the patriot, the unity and simplicity of truth, the energy of argu- 
ment, crowned -with the light, the order and dignity of eloquence. 
From a natural association of ideas, on which you, no doubt, calcu- 
lated, we received your protest with similar feelings. It is true, 
indeed, that in this country xve have perceived nothing either of 
ministerial oppression or corruption, during the course of our present 
administration. The country has appeared to us to flourish in halcyon 
peace. Instead of oppression, we have felt our burdens lightened ; 
instead of corruption, we have seen only that political purity and 
chastity which become a republic. But, in spite of seeing and feeling, 
when we find a congressional protest published to the world, and sup- 
ported by dissentients so respectable, in numbei", we at first apprehend 
that our senses have been deceived ; that, unknown to us, thete has 
been oppression or corruption, or both, which this baud of honest and 
independent patriots is now about to expose and proclaim to the 
nation. We take up your protest with hearts beating full of expecta- 
tion and anticipated gratitude. But Avhat is our disappointment, 
what our regret, what our disgust, when, instead of a protest breathing 
the elevated spirit of conscious truth and virtue, telling us of wrongs 
which we have suffered, and fromng them, too, we find ourselves 
insulted by an electioneering squib — weak and inconsistent in its 
charges — shufiling and prevaricating in its argument — poor, entangled 
and crippled in its composition. Is it by these means that you seek 
to recommend yom'selves to our respect ? Is it thus that you respect 
the understandings and integrity of your countrymen ? 

" The jealous resentment of a republic is the sacred guardian of her 
honour and safety. The wise and the virtuous approach and excite 
it with caution ; for they know that it is a dangerous passion, and 
they would confine it to its appropriate function, the punishment of 
guilt, and the preservation of the republic. It is only the weak and 
the wicked who seek to rouse this lion passion on every occasion ; the 
weak, because they know not what they do ; and the wicked, because 
they know it too well ; because they are, perhaps, in a situation which 
anarchy cannot make worse, and may make better; or because there 
is some man of preeminent merit who stands in the way of their 
designs, and who is too fiimly fixed to be removed by any other means 
than a popular storm ; or because they feel themselves so perfectly 
eclipsed in the plain road of virtuous and honest policy, that they find 
it necessary to fly oif into an eccentric track, in order to catch the 
public eye ; or because they had rather be regarded as baleful meteors, 
shaking pestilence and plague upon the earth, than as salutary planets 
of inferior magnitude and splendour, dispensing light and maintaining 



Chap. XVI.] THE CAUCUS. 213 

the harmony of the system ; or because they have been baulked in 
some favourite appointment, and, writhing under tlie united pangs of 
disappointed ambition and rancorous revenge, or panting for the guilty 
glory of heading a bold and turbulent faction, they would involve a 
republic in confusion and ruin, rather than not be gratified and dis- 
tinguished. These are truths which the people of the United States 
understand ; and understanding which, they will scan with a critical 
and suspicious eye every attempt which is made to inflame the 
national resentment. Before they suffer themselves to be inflamed, 
they will examine well the causes which are assigned for it. Before 
they suffer their confidence to be withdrawn from a tried, a faithful 
and a favourite servant, they will analyze with calmness and patience 
the charges which are made against him. They will do more : they 
will look with an eye of jealous scrutiny into the characters and mo- 
tives of his accusers. They will see whether there be no one among 
them to whom the removal of that favourite would be j^ersonally con- 
venient or grateful ; no one whose resentment or whose envy it would 
soothe ; no clan of subaltern characters, to whose private and personal 
attachment to a restless and ambitious chieftain, it would administer 
delight. They will trace the denunciations to its source; and see 
whether it be fair and patriotic, with a sincere and single eye to the 
public good ; or whether it be the intrigue of a cabal, to put out of 
the way a man who is too honest and virtuous for their purposes. 
As to you, gentlemen, it is to be presumed that you can defy this 
scrutiny. Occupying the station which you do, it would be horrible 
to think otherwise of you. To turn against us the ' vantage ground' 
which we have given you, to use it for the purpose of embroiling us 
with one another, of ruining our peace, and overwhelming the republic 
with civil discord, in order that you might rise, like the spirits of the 
storm, to the sovereign direction, would be an abuse of confidence, a 
pitch of ingratitude and perfidy, of which we trust that our infant 
republic has, as yet, no examples. "• 

* * * * -x- * 

"You arraign the late caucus at Washington ; but hav^e not you 
yourselves, or at least the most distinguished among you, been mem- 
bers of caucuses on the very same occasion ? Were you not members 
of a caucus for^this very purpose in the presidential election of 1800 i* 
You cannot deny it ; you dare not deny it. AVhen it was found that 
there was an equal division in the electoral votes between Mr. Jeffer- 
son and A. Burr, were you not frequently, nay almost perpetually in 
caucus for the purpose of devising means to ensure the ultimate elec- 
tion of him whom you believed the choice of the people ? Were you 
not, again, in caucus for the presidential election which took place in 
the 3'ear 1805? The.se are facts of public notoriety. You do not 
deny them. Nay, you admit that caucuses ' have heretofore been 
customary :' yom* consciences admonished you of the inconsistenciea 



214 ONE OF THE PEOPLE. [1808. 

into ■whicli you were plunging, and you attempt to excuse yourselves. 
'These meetings/ you say, '■if not justified, were palliated by the 
necessity of the Union :' No shuflfling in the ranks, gentlemen. A 
caucus is right or wrong in principle ; if wrong, nothing can make it 
right. If the caucus of 1808 was ' in direct hostility with the princi- 
ples of the Constitution ;' if it was a ' gross assumption of power not 
delegated by the people ;' the caucuses of which you were members, 
were equally ' in direct hostility with the Constitution ;' were equally 
* gross assumptions of power not delegated by the people ;' for the 
Constitution has undergone no change in this respect. It gave no 
more caucussing power in 1800-4, than it gives in 1808. Out of 
your own mouth, then, you are condemned : ' wherein ye judge others, 
ye condemn yourselves; for ye that judge, do the same things.' 
* * •>;• -X- vf * 

"Again: You accuse the members of Congress who formed the 
late caucus at Washington of attempting to produce 'an undue bias 
on the presidential election — ;by the sanction of congressional names.* 
Now, pray, what was the object of your protest — of your indecent and 
unfounded invective against Mr. Madison? Was that intended to 
produce no ' bias on the presidential election,' and to produce it, too, 
' by the sanction of congressional names T Blush at the inconsisten- 
cies in which you have involved yourselves — inconsistencies which 
prove the pure and noble policy by which you are actuated, and 
which, rely upon it, will not be shortly forgotten by your country. 

" But what is all this clamour and uproar about caucuses, and 
winch, all at once, have become so fraught with danger to the coun- 
try ! The people of the United States see nothing in a caucus but a 
conference among the members of Congress to ascertain the favourite 
of a majority of the people. The presidential election is a prevailing 
topic of conversation in every quarter of the Union, for a considerable 
time before it takes place. The pretensions of the several candidates 
are every where publicly and freely discussed. The members of Con- 
gress, then, will have learnt the sentiments of their respective consti- 
tuents, before they leave home. The object of a caucus is understood 
to be nothing more nor less than to bring those sentiments together, 
and, by comparing them, to ascertain who has the preponderance of 
popular favour. What odds docs it make how this conference is 
called; whether by an anonymous card or one signed by the name 
of jMr. ]5radley ? The essential object is the conference; and so that 
one be fairly obtained, the people care very little about the forms and 
ceremonies whieli led to it. As to the assertion that the notice was 
private, we require evidence. We have seen a very different state- 
ment of tliis fact — a card published in the name of Mr. Bradley, and 
a counter-card in the name of Mr. 8omcbody-else. And as to you, 
gentlemen, we presume that it would have made very little difference 
whether the notice was public or private; since your new-born reli- 



Chap. XVI.] THE CAUCUS. 215 

gion on this subject, you would have been too scrupulous or too stately 
to have attended, altliough the notice had come to you in the form of 
a suhpmna ad tesiificandum, and, that, on the solemn call of your 
country. 

^:- •?;■ * * ^ -x- % 

" You seem to think that a congi-essional caucus has the power of 
forcing on the people whomsoever they please as President — that by 
bribes in one shape and another, a caucus composed of members of 
Congress, might be induced to place any candidate in nomination, and 
that such nomination would bind the people like a magic spell ; that 
from it they would have no possibility of appeal or escape. Do you 
really believe all this, gentlemen ? If you do, we are sorry for you. 
You have lived to very little purpose, and know but little of the inde^ 
pendence of the American character. Waiving, at present, your re- 
mark on the corruptibility of Congress, and of which it is hoped you 
do not speak experimentally — let me ask you this question; — do you 
suppose that, if one of you (and let it be the most prominent cha- 
racter among you,) could have prevailed on the last caucus to put him 
in nomination, the people would have had no choice but to have made 
him President ? It is impossible to read the question, without smiling 
at the supposition of an answer in the afi&rmative. The nomination 
would have been laughed to scorn. And why would it ? Because 
there are men of another stamp who are willing to serve us : men, 
whom we have tried for upwards of thirty years ; men, who sat at 
the helm through the storms of our revolutionary war; men, whom 
we have ever found faithful and vigilant ; men, as profound in policy, 
as they are upright in their views; men, who have never had an ob- 
ject but their country's good ; men, compared to whom you are but 
as boys of yesterday. These are the men whom our fathers have 
gone down to their graves, blessing ; and whom we certainlv shall not 
desert, because of your petulance and importunity." 

The protestors had affirmed that a caucus was " in direct hostility 
with the principles of the Constitution" — but had added to this de- 
claration — " we do not say that a consultation amongst the members 
of Congress respecting the persons to be recommended for the two 
highest offices in the Union, may not, in some extraordinary crisis, 
be proper" — and as an instance of such a crisis, they had referred to 
the first election of Mr. Jefferson, — '' The federalists" — they said in 
touching upon this election, — " presented a strong phalanx, and either 
to succeed at all, or to prcA^ent them from placing the candidate for 
the Vice-Presidency in the presidential chair, it was necessary to exevt 



216 ONE OF THE PEOPLE. [1808 

the combined efiForts of the whole republican party." To this point, 
*' One of the People" ashs : 

'' But why are you not in caucus, gentlemen ? for the very crisis 
has arrived, which, according to your principles, would render it 
proper. There is a party which is just as obnoxious to you as ever 
the federal party was, and which we believe you wish, most fervently 
wish, to annihilate. It is the republican party, at the head of which 
is the present administration. It will be in vain for you to deny this. 
It is not in your Protest only that we look for the evidence of it : it 
is in your conduct on the floor of Congress. From an occasional^ 
difference with the measures of the administration, we should not have ^ 
drawn this conclusion, because such a result might have been expected ■ 
from the different structures and habits of different minds. But when 
we find you organized into a corps against the administration, and pur- 
suing your opposition with as much system, inflexihilUy, and, I will 
add, rancour, as you manifested towards the federal administrations, 
we can have no doubt, that you wish their annihilation as devoutly as 
ever you wished that of the federalists. Yes, it is not Mr. Madison 
only, it is the administration which offends you. It is their united ! 
effulgence which produces all this agitation and screaming among the 
birds, of night. They long for the day-fall, which better suits the 
dimness of their sight ; for the season of darkness, when the pecu- 
liar conformation of their organs may give them an advantage, and 
their fierce and predatory spirit may have full scope for indulgence 
and satiety. '' * * * 

After some cogent arguments in fiivour of the caucus principle, the 
author proceeds : 

" That conference is a medium of communication between the 
states. It shows to one state the oi^inions of another, and to the 
United States the result of the whole. Those who, on the compari- 
son, find themselves in the minority, if iJiey he the genuine friends 
of repuhlicanism, of harmony and of the Union, will sacrifice their 
private predilection to those great public objects ; and thus, by recip- 
rocal concessions, feuds between the states will be prevented, congres- 
sional intrigue will be avoided, and these elections will continue to 
fall, where the Constitution intended them to fall, on the people, by 
their electors. Such will always be the result, while the people con- 
tinue fraternal, united, virtuous and patriotic. — Or say that a country 
is cursed with a congressional minority, who, instead of thus sacri- 
ficing to the public good, would sacrifice every earthly and every hea- 
venly consideration to the views of their own inordinate ambition ; 
then, there is the more occasion for concert and good understanding 
among the virtuous and pacific niajority. So that whether in times 



Chap. XVI.] THE CAUCUS. 217 

of internal peace or trouble, the conference is constitutional, harmless 
and advantageous. 

" When was it ever more so, than on the present occasion ? When 
(to say the least of them) a parcel of hot-brained young men, aspiring 
to resemble Shakspeare's character of the earl of Warwick, to be tho 
* builders up and pullers down of Presidents,' confederate themselves 
togethci-, to traduce and ruin one of the most virtuous and able public 
servants that ever blessed a free nation ? And did you suppose that 
it would be in the power of such men as you are, to shake the gTati- 
tude and attachment of the people to such a man as Mr. Madison ? 
What could you have thought of us ? what could you have thought 
of yourselves ? Of Mr. Madison, we had supposed it might have been 
truly said, as Dr. Johnson is reported to have said of Sir Joshua Rey- 
nolds, that he is one of those men with whom, if a person were to 
quarrel, he would be the most at a loss how to abuse. But in this 
sentiment, Dr. Johnson went upon the supposition, that the abuse 
should proceed upon facts, or at least, have some small degree of re- 
semblance to them. The power of invention and of distortion, which 
you have displayed, were altogether beyond his calculation." 

The objection of " want of energy " is then taken up. The Protest 
had inveighed against Mr. Madison in this language : 

" We ask for energy, and we are told of his moderation. We ask 
for talents, and the reply is, his unassuming merit. We ask what 
were his services in the cause of public liberty, and we are du-ected 
to the pages of the Federalist, written in conjunction with Alexander 
Hamilton and John Jay, in which the most extravagant of their doc- 
trines are maintained and propagated. We ask for consistency, as a 
republican standing forth to stem the torrent of oppression which 
threatened to overwhelm the liberties of the country : we ask for that 
high and honourable sense of duty which would, at all times, turn 
with loathing and abhorrence from any compromise with fraud and 
speculation. We ask in vain." 

The reply to this is spirited, caustic and personal, presenting a 
strong example of the author's power of sarcasm. 

" This is just such pretty little sing-song composition, as school- 
boys, with senses half awake, dream over for their first thesis. And 
who are you, that hold this language concerning Mr. Madison ? As 
to the most prominent among you, we ask for your energy, and wo 
are told of your arrogance; we-ask for your talents, and the reply ia 

Vol. I. — 19 



218 ONE OF THE PEOPLE. " [180S. 

your sarcasms and your petulance ; we ask wliat are your services in 
the cause of puLlic liberty, and we ai-e directed to your co-operation 
with the British cabinet and the British author of War in Disguise, 
to justify the piratical plunder of our commerce; we ask for your 
consistency as republicans, and we are told of what you were and what 
you are — of your former attachment to the pure principles of the 
administration, and your present delirious and frantic invectives against 
them. We ask for that high and honourable sense of duty, which, 
trampling with disdain on all selfish considerations of private pique 
and personal aggrandizement, looks only to the public good. We ask 
for the mind which pursues that great object with calmness and dis- 
cretion ; which, instead of fuming and fretting itself upon a partial 
view of a measure, takes the time to look comprehensively, patiently 
and calmly to all its consequences, in all its bearings ; to allow to 
every consideration its due weight, and then, instead of rushing to its 
decision, in^a state of feverish passion, takes its ground with that dig- 
nity which results from a conscious mastery of the subject — from 
mingled temperance and firmness. — We ask for those things ; we ask 
in vain. As to the rest of you, we ask who are you ? and we are told 
— you are members of Congress. We ask how you have distinguished 
yourselves? and we are pointed — to your PROTEST ! — And you arc 
the men who expect, that by givi7ig your names to Ike loorld, you can 
destroy Mr. Madison ! It was, indeed, high time for you to have 
received this salutary admonition. No, gentlemen, believe it, you are 
not the kind of characters who are fitted to sway the destinies of this 
nation. We would as soon commit them to ' Macedonia's madman, 
or the Swede.' Nor are the people of the United States an Athenian 
mob, on whom you can play off your intrigues with success. You 
will not speedily gain with us the name of patriots, by means of your 
rashness and vociferation ; nor will you prevail upon us, by fictitious 
charges, to banish from our bosom another Aristides. You forget that 
we have the example of Athens before us. If, after such an example, 
we could repeat her follies and her crimes — banish our patriots, and 
applaud and flatter the fiery demagogue, until we raised him into a 
despot — wc should deserve the remorse, the vain and unavailing 
remorse, the ruin and the infamy, which finally overtook her." 

The following brief history of the celebrated Yazoo case is not with- 
out interest : 

" But, what do you mean by raising this uproar against Mr. Ma- 
dison about the abominable Yazoo business ? We know that he is as 
perfectly clear of that transaction as you are ; and you knoio it too. 
We understand you, gentlemen. We see you through all your mazes. 
You know that this Yazoo business was universally odious; you 
know how highly and universally our indignation was excited. You 



Chap. XVI.] THE YAZOO SPECULATION. 219 

believe that indignation so blind that you can lead it as you list, and 
so furious that you can cause it to sweep into indiscriminate rviin all 
against whom it is your pleasure to direct it. You are mistaken, 
gentlemen. We are not so blind as you suppose vis. Nor will you 
find it so easy a matter as you expect, to make us, by misrepresenta- 
tions, the tools of your designs and the instruments of our owa dis- 
grace. Unfortunately for you, we know the course of that whole 
afiair too well to be imposed upon by you. We will show you that 
we do. 

" When that country which had been the scene and the subject of 
the Yazoo speculation, was ceded by the State of Georgia to the 
United States, it passed, with all the incumbrances and claims which 
previously existed upon it. These were derived from various sources : 
1st. From the British government while the country belonged to the 
British : 2d. From the Spanish crown after its conquest of West 
Florida : 3d. From occupancy and settlement only ; and 4th. From 
the State of Georgia. Petitions, memorials and remonstrances 
swarmed before Congress, and, among others, those of the Yazoo 
speculators. It became important to the United States to ascertain 
how many of those claims were well founded and deserved to be con- 
fii-med ; how many were fictitious and deserved to be rejected. By 
an act of Congress, passed in 1800, the commissioners of the United 
States who had been previously appointed to settle limits with the 
State of Georgia, were authorized, 1st. <to enquire into the claims 
which are or shall be made by settlers, or any other persons whatso- 
ever to any part of the lands aforesaid.' 2d. 'To receive from such 
settlers and claimants any propositions of compromise.' 3d. ' To lay 
a full statement of the claims and propositions, together with their 
opinion thereon, before Congress.' Mr. Madison, the secretary of 
state, Mr. Gallatin, the secretary of the treasury, and Mr. Lincoln, 
the then attorney-general of the United States, were the commission- 
ers appointed to perform those laborious duties. ' They discharged 
them with ability ; and all three concurred in the report upon this 
subject. In explaining the Yazoo claims, so far are they from sup- 
pressing one single feature of that hideous transaction, that they open 
up all the sources of corruption in which the Georgia law originated, 
point out the names of the corrupted members, and arrange and ex- 
hibit the proofs of that corruption. In short, they exhibit the whole 
of that evidence which was afterwards the theme of so much eloquent 
declamation in Congress. Never was there a case of infamous cor- 
ruption more luminously, more ably, and more cogently developed 
and displayed, than that of the Yazoo, in their report. They were 
directed, however, by the law under which they were acting, to re- 
ceive any proposals of compromise which might be made by the Yazoo 
claimants, and to report such proposals to Congress, together with 
their opinion thereon. They accordingly receive and report the Yazoo 



220 ONE OF THE PEOPLE. [1808. 

proposals, and give their opinion that they were inadmissible. At 
the same time they think that there were features in this transaction 
which deserved their consideration and that of Congress. For instance, 
a great number of virtuous and innocent men at a distance from the 
scene of action, and who knew nothing of the corruption in which the 
law of Georgia originated, had been induced to become purchasers of 
Yazoo lands. The law itself on the face of it was not only fair, but 
popular. For it was an act supplementary to an act entitled, ' an act 
appropriating a. part of the unlocated territory of this state fa the 
payment of the late state troops.' The Assembly of the State of 
Greorgia, a body having full power on the subject, pledge the faith of 
the state for the validity of the grant. On the faith of this pledge, 
distant men, as virtuous as any in the United States, and knowing 
nothing of this case except the fair face of the law, were induced to 
take titles under it. The names of some of these men, well known 
in Virginia, appear in the report. Was it competent to the State of 
Georgia, one only of the contracting parties, to revoke the law, and 
that to the prejudice of these innocent purchasers ? These were dif- 
ficulties which the commissioners had to consider and to report their 
opinion upon. The United States had now taken the place of Geor- 
gia; it had acquired by cession avast territory; and besides doing 
strict justice to itself, it was bound to do what was equitable to others. 
There was another view of the subject highly interesting to the go- 
vernment. It was bound in its decision to consult its oicn dignity in 
the mode of adjusting these disputes, and its own interest in removing 
all the sources of litigation and quieting the titles of its own future 
grantees in this territory. Considering these circumstances, the real 
hardship of the case to the innocent purchasers and the rich acquisi- 
tion which the United States had gained in the territory, the three 
commissioners concurred in thinking it the most liberal and sound 
policy to put an end to all disputes, by giving those claimants a rea- 
sonable compensation for their disappointment and losses. This is 
the whole case." 

"We close these extracts with the eloquent defence of Mr. Madison, 
which seems to have been prompted no less by the just appreciation 
of his public service, than by a warm personal regard for the distin- 
guished subject of those remarks. 

s 

" You object to 3Ir. IMadison, the icajit of energy. The objection 
shows the company which you have been keeping. It proves that 
confederacy with your former political adversaries, which has been so 
often, and, wc now find, so justly charged upon you. It is the mere 
echo of the old federal reproach against jMr. Jefferson, caught by you, 
to be reverberated against his expected successor. The u'ant of en- 
ergy ! How has Mr. Madison shown it ? Was it in standing abreast 



Chap. XVI.] ONE OF THE PEOPLE. 221 

with the van of our revolutionary pati'iots, and braving the horrors of 
a seven years' war for liberty, while you were shuddering at the sound 
of the storm, and clinging closer with terror to your mothers' breasts ? 
Was it, on the declaration of our independence, in being among tlie 
fii'st and most efl'ective agents in casting aside the feeble threads which 
so poorly connected the States together, and, in lieu of them, substi- 
tuting that energetic bond of union, the Federal Constitution ? Was 
it in the manner in which he advocated the adoption of this substitute ; 
in the courage and firmness with which he met, on this topic, fought 
hand to hand, and finally vanquished that boasted prodigy of nature, 
I'atrick Henry? Where was this timid and apprehensive spirit which 
you are pleased to ascribe to Mr. Madison, when he sat under the 
sound of Henry's voice for days and weeks together ; when he saw 
that Henry, whose soul had so undauntedly led the revolution, shrink- 
ing back from his bold experiment, from the energy of this new and 
untried Constitution ; when he heard the magic of his eloquence ex- 
erted to its highest pitch, in painting, with a prophet's fire, the oppres- 
sions which would flow from it ; in harrowing up the soul with antici- 
pated horrors, and enlisting even the thunders of Heaven in his cause? 
How did it happen that the feeble and effeminate spirit of James 
Madison, instead of flying in confusion and dismay before this awful 
and tremendous combination, sat serene and unmoved upon its throne ; 
that, with a penetration so vigorous and clear, he dissipated these 
phantoms of fancy; rallied back the courage of the House to the 
charge, and, in the State of Virginia, in which Patrick Henry was 
almost adored as infallible, succeeded in throwing that Henry into a 
minority ? Is this the proof of his want of energy ? Or will you find 
it in the manner in which he watched the first movements of the Fe- 
deral Constitution ; in the boldness with which he resisted, even in a 
Washington, what he deemed infractions of its spirit; in the inde- 
pendence, ability and vigour with which, in spite of declining health, 
he maintained this conflict during eight years ? He was then in a 
minority. Turn to the debates of Congress and read his arguments : 
you will see how the business of a virtuous and able minority is con- 
ducted. Do you discover in them any evidence of want of energy ? 
Yes ; if energy consist, as you seem to think it does, in saying rude 
things, in bravado and bluster, in pouring a muddy torrent of coarse 
invective, as destitute of argument as unwarranted by provocation, you 
will find great evidence of want of energy in his speeches. But if 
true energy be evinced, as we think it is, by the calm and dignified, 
yet steady, zealous and persevering pursuit of an object, his whole 
conduct during that period is honourably marked with energy. And 
that energy rested on the most solid and durable basis — conscious rec- 
titude ; supported by the most profound and extensive information, 
by an habitual power of investigation, which unravelled, with intuitive 
certainty, the most intricate subjects, and an eloquence, chaste, lumi- 
"19* 



222 MR. MADI::ON. {1808. 

nous and cogent, whicli won respect, while it forced conviction. "We 
have compared some of your highest and most vaunted disphiys with 
the speeches of Mr. Madison, during his services in Congress. What 
a contrast ! It is the noisy and short-lived babbling of a brook after 
a rain, compared with the majestic course of the Potomac. Yet, youi 
have the vanity and hardihood to ask for the proof of his talents 
You, who have as yet shown no talents that can be of service to your • 
country ; no talents beyond those of the merciless Indian, who dexte- 
rously strikes a tomahawk into the defenceless heart ! But what an 
idea is yours of energy ! You feel a constitutional irritability — you 
indulge it, and you call that indulgence energy ! Sudden fits of spleen 
— transient starts of passion — wild paroxysms of fury — the more slow 
and secret workings of envy and resentment — cruel taunts and sar- 
casms — the dreams of disordered fancy — the crude abortions of short- 
sighted theory — the deluium and ravings of a hectic fever — this is 
your notion of energy ! Heaven preserve our country from such en- 
ergy as this ! If this be the kind of energy which you deny to Mr. 
Madison, the people of this country will concur in your denial. But 
if you deny him that salutary energy which qualifies him to pursue 
his country's happiness and to defend her rights, we follow up the 
course of his public life, and demand the proof of your charge : for 
we beg you not to think so highly of yourselves, nor so meanly of us, 
as to suppose that your general assertion will pass with us for proofs: 
we have not yet seen the evidence of candour and virtue which enti- 
tles you to this high ground. To your proofs^ then, and to the retro- 
spect of his life. Do you remember that dark and disastrous period, 
during the administration of General Washington, when the British 
marine was taking some of those stately strides which threatened to 
crush our infant commerce in the bud ? Do you remember the reso- 
lutions brought forward by Mr. Madison at that period, to restrict the 
British commerce itself, and avenge the wrongs done to his country ? 
Do you remember those celebrated resolutions, and the raptures of 
applause with which they were received by the people, for their well- 
timed and well-directed energy? It may be convenient to you not to 
remember these things ; but do not believe that rce shall forget them, 
nor that we shall fail to compare the spirited and highly applauded 
policy which he recommended then, with the policy which our present 
wise and virtuous republican minority are recommending toward the 
same nation now, on account of the same kind of aggressions. 
* 'A -A * -x- 

" Again, was Mr. Madison's want of energy shown in the year 
1799 ? In that year, ' the political hemisphere' was so far from having 
* brightened a little,' that its darkness had thickened till it could be 
felt. The Alien and Sedition laws waved their baleful sceptres over 
the continent, and the bosoms of patriots were every where filled with 
consternation, and almost with despair. It was believed that publio 



Chap. XVI.] .MR. MADISON. 223 

liberty had no hope, no refuge but in the State governments. It had 
been announced from the presidential chair, that there was a party in 
Virginia, which was to be 'ground into dust and ashes.' The reso- 
lutions of Colonel Taylor, in 1798, treated with neglect or contempt 
by the other great States, had proved that the Legislature of Virginia 
was the last stand of our political freedom and happiness : — and to 
crown the climax of danger and disconsolation, the distinguished 
Patrick Henry came again from retirement, with the view, as it was 
understood, to assault and dislodge them from this their last station. 
Such was the inausi^icious, the all-important, the decisive crisis, when 
James Madison, with a frame still languishing under sickness, but 
with a spirit firm, erect and intrepid, came forth in the cause of liberty 
and his country. Who can forget that moment ? Who can forget 
how the little band of Virginian patriots crowded around this repub- 
lican champion, to catch the accents of a voice rendered feeble by 
disease ? Even yet wc have this virtuous and fraternal group before 
us. Who can forget how the night of despair first began to give 
way; — how hope, at first, faintly dawned upon each cheek, as uncer- 
tain of the issue ; until under the inspiring strains of his voice, she 
assumed a deep and determined glow, and sparkled with exultation in 
every eye ? Who can forget the resplendent triumph of truth and 
reason exhibited in his report ? Who that loves his country can cease 
to love the man, whose genius and firmness gained that triumph ? 
Not the American people, be assured, gentlemen. Yet we find that 
one of you, under the signature of Falkland, in a late Enquirer, can 
recall that epoch with far different emotions; can gratify his spleen 
by fancying what would have been the result of a rencontre between 
Mr. Henry and Mr. Madison, if it had not been prevented by the 
death of the former; — how the genius of Madison would have sunk 
and fled before the impetuous and overwhelming eloquence of Mr. 
Henry. The writer obviously derives a species of malignant pleasure 
from brooding over this imaginary triumph, although if gained, it 
would have been at the expense of his country. This is his virtue : 
this, too, is his candour ! Had he forgotten the convention of Vir- 
ginia, where Henry, in all his glory, was foiled by the transcendant 
powers of James Madison ? Or, did he think the defence of the 
Alien and Sedition laws a better cause, than the contending for pre- 
vious amendments to the Constitution ? Wretched, most wretched \i 
the fate of that writer or that man who deserts the plain highway of 
conscience and of candour, for the dark and crooked mazes of in- 
trigue and cunning — of trick and misrepresentation : he may, as the 
wise son of Sirach has said, ' work his way for a time, like a mole 
under ground, but by-and bye, he blunders into light, and stands ex- 
posed with all his dirt upon his head.' 

***■«■* * 

'' Mr. Madison, it seems, left his post in Congress, in the moment 



224 ONE OF THE PEOPLE. [1808 

of danger, and took refuge in retirement. This is just as candid as 
the rest of your reproaches. The case was this. Mr. Madison had; 
devoted two-and-twenty years of the prime and flower of his life to 
the service of his country : he had not spent those years in sayingi 
'yea and nay/ nor, what is worse, in venting barbarous sarcasms, int 
writing protests disgraceful to his virtue, and understanding, and inc 
playing the part of Thersites in the camp of Agamemnon! No;- 
ihose years had been spent in beneficial services, in the discharge of: 
the most arduous duties, in the most intense and unrelaxing exertion 
of his pre-eminent faculties in the cause of liberty and republican 
government. In the mean time, his private affairs had been neglected 
— his constitution had received a serious shock — his health was in a;' 
visible and alarming decline. In these circumstances, at the close of 
General Washington's administration, he sought an interval to put 
his estate in order, to recruit his health, if that were possible, or, if 
otherwise, to provide for the awful change which he had too much 
reason to apprehend. It was in 1797 and '98, that he was thus en- 
gaged. But we have seen, that in 1799, when the dangers of his 
country had increased almost to desperation, although his health was 
so far from being con&med that it had become worse, he again made 
his appearance on the political theatre, with the same signal gallantry 
which had ever distinguished him. He has been in public life ever 
since. And those two years of repose and of private duty, so reason- 
able, so necessary to him, are what you would have us to consider as 
a cowardly flight from danger ! We are not barbarians. You defeat 
your own purpose, gentlemen; you wish to destroy Mr. Madison; 
but you force us to recall his services, and to reflect how immaculate 
must be that life, against which malice itself can bring no better 

charges. 

-» «- ~> * * -x- * 

" But let us see how well this quadrates with your next charge. 
This is, that Mr. Madison, in conjunction with Mr. Jay and Mr. 
Hamilton, wrote the work called The Federalist, in which the most 
objectionable doctrines of the latter are maintained. Now the ob- 
jection to the doctrines of the latter gentleman was, that they were 
too energetic. In one breath, then, Mr. Madison wants energy — in 
the next, he has too much of it. — This is the unity and consistency 
of truth. — But, why, again, are you so vague and so general in this 
charge about the Federalist ? — Our jurists tell us ' dolus lafet ingene- 
ralihus — deception lurks in general expressions; and the truth of the 
maxim was never more strikingly exemplied than in your treatment 
of Mr. Madison. You mount some eminence, and, with a trumpet to 
your mouth, you bawl out, ' Yazoo,' ' want of energy,' ' the Federal- 
ist — Jay and Hamilton.' It does not suit you to descend to particu- 
lars, because you know that the charges require but to be seriously 
examined, and they are at once falsified and exposed. You know the 






Chap. XVI.] MR. MADISON. 225 

odium attached to the words which you utter, and regarding your 
countrymen as a pack from the kennel, you seem to think that you 
have nothing to do, but to point out the game, and set us on. Bat 
we are not quite such beasts as you are pleased, most respectfully, to 
consider us. Instead of being ready to worry a patriot whose virtues 
offend you, we will protect and cherish him against your injustice and 
most undeserving persecution. The Federalist ? We know thai it is 
a defence of the Constitution which we are all sworn to support : and 
where is the crime of Olr. IMadison's having participated in that de- 
fence? Is it criminal in Mr. Madison to have defended the Consti- 
tution by written argument, and yet not criminal in you and in us to 
have sworn to support it ? This is another evolution of the strength 
and clearness of your discernment ! Since you will not descend to 
particularize the passages in the Federalist which !&Ir. Madison wrote 
and which give you offence, permit us to extract one which is calcu- 
lated to give you consolation in the prospect hefore you, since it 
promises the continuance of your honourable existence as a body ; — 
' Liberty is to fiction, what air is to fire ; an aliment, without which 
it instantly expires. But it could not be a less folly to abolish liberty, 
which is essential to political life, because it nourishes faction, than 
it would be to wish the annihilation of air which is essential to animal 
life, because it imparts to fire its destructive agency.' This is a gene- 
ral answer to a general charge. When you give that charge a definite 
form, it shall receive a definite answer." 

The letters conclude with a retaliatory assault upon the protestora : 

" There is obviously an effort to keep back a part of your wishes. 
Speak out, gentlemen ; after the lengths which you have gone, it is 
the height of folly to be squeamish. Or, if you will not speak out, 
we will do it for you. This is your wish. You wish some man to be 
appointed the next President, who, you believe, looks upon the present 
administration with the same hostility which you do ; in other words, 
you are displeased with the character of the present administration, 
and you wish a different character to be introduced. This is the 
whole of the secret with which you have been labouring and floun- 
dering throughout this most unfortunate, self-murdering Protest. 
But you perceive that the people of the United States are of a dif- 
ferent opinion. They approve the character of the present adminis- 
tration ; they wish that character continued ; they know that it will 
be continued by the election of Mr. Madison. These are truths 
which stare you in the face, and fill you with the pangs and agonies 
of despair. The prospect of being again in a little and wretched 
minority, during the next administration, is more than your proud 
and lofty spirits can support. — Learn, then, to avoid it. Learn to 
have no interests but those of the people. Forget the wicked dreams 

P 



\f 



226 ONE OF THE PEOPLE. [180! 

of ambition wbicli have disturbed your brains. Return to virtue an 
to the people; and the people will forgive you." 

These letters attracted a great deal of observation. Replies wer 
published, and a war of considerable virulence was waged betweei 
the author and his opponents. Some references to this will be seci 
in liis correspondence of this year. 

We are struck, in the perusal of these papers of " One of the Peo 
pie," with the acrimony of the discussion. They show us that th<i 
political asperities of our own day are inherited from another genem 
tion, and belong, we may infer, to the nature of our government, anc 
in some degree, perhaps, to the character of our race. Few merBl 
were more tolerant of opinion than Wirt, few less likely to be excitedlf 
by political stimulants into the exhibition of acerbity of temper : — butlf . 
we may remark also that no man was ever more prompt or zealous tojlL 
defend a friend from the assaults of an enemy than he. In the per- 
formance of this office for Mr. Madison, he may have indulged a;] 
sharper tone of rebuke and a larger license of invective than his owni; 
judgment, in a moment of more repose, might approve. His letters 
to his friends, contemporary with these political effusions, seem tO' 
imply this. The authors of the Protest were gentlemen of high 
standing in the country, many of them distinguished, then and after 
wards, for their devotion to the public welfare and effective usefulness 
in the national councils ; and, in after life, personally esteemed by 
Mr. Wirt, as friends worthy of all regard. They had, however, com- 
menced the war, and could hardly expect less quarter than they i 
received in the conflict ; — though, we may suppose, little expecting to 
encounter the champion which Richmond supplied in " One of the 
People." 

Whilst these letters were in progress of publication, Wirt found 
himself most unexpectedly, and without any agency on his own part, 
proposed to the city of Richmond as a candidate to represent that con- 
stituency in the House of Delegates. His opponent was Colonel Car- 
rington, one of the most worthy and influential gentlemen in that 
community. Quite as unexpectedly, he was elected. 

Writing to Mrs. Wirt from Williamsburg, on the 11th of April, 
1808, some days before the election in Richmond was to be held, he 
pays — 



Chap. XVI.] ELECTED TO THE LEGISLATURE. 227 

" There is an election here to-day, which reminds me of that in 
Richmond. The total indifference with which I contemplate the 
Richmond election, convinces me that political ambition is not one of 
my sins. In many points of view, it would be permanently and infi- 
nitely to my advantage to be left out. I beg you, therefore, not to 
heave one sigh at Col. C.'s election, nor think that your husband is 
the less respected by the wise and the good, because he is not pre- 
ferred by the freeholders of Richmond to Colonel C. It is no disparage- 
ment to any young man, that a patriot so old, so long tried, so virtu- 
ous and so worthy in every point of view as Colonel C, is preferred 
to him. I regret extremely that, by being unintentionally and unex- 
pectedly drawn into collision with him, I have been made to have the 
appearance of implying a doubt of his fitness, or of entertaining a vain 
opinion of my own ; both which opinions I most sincerely disclaim. 
Rut you know how I was brought into this scrape, which, I promise 
you, is the last one of the kind." 

The history of political contest in the United States does not often 
present specimens of reserve and modest personal estimate resembling 
this. We record such manifestations of opinion as is here implied, 
both in regard to what is due to the public service, and to the humili- 
lity of self-judgment, with a peculiar pleasure, for the instruction of 
the present generation, when almost every man seems to believe him- 
self gifted with all the attributes of wisdom, talents and learning 
necessary to the discharge of any public function whatever. At this 
day, when the most profound problems of political economy and juris- 
prudence, and all the mysteries of wise legislation, and all the science 
necessary for skilful diplomacy, are supposed "to come by nature," 
or to derive their highest finish and perfection from the severe disci- 
pline of the stump, and to find in every forum erected at a country 
cross-road or porch of a village tavern, an academy competent to fm'- 
nish full-blown and accomplished statesmen, it may be well to recur 
to the example of that eai'lier epoch of our republic, when a man so 
gifted as William Wirt, so laboriously trained and so successfully 
tried, could speak in such terms of distrust as to his fitness for a seat 
in a State Legislature. Forty years ago, evidently, the men of Ame- 
rica were not so confident, in regard to their own merit, as they have 
grown of late. The march of intellect, which we now call '' Progi-ess," 



228 LETTER TO MR. MONROE. [lS08ij|C!i 

has done wonders in tlie supply of the finished material of statesman^ r 
ship. 

In the presidential contest of this year, the opposition to IMr. Madi- '. 
son had, in part, looked to Mr. Monroe, as a point of concentration. 
He was named as the competitor of the caucus candidate, and a 
strong effort was made to give him the support of the republican par- 
ty. Mr. Wirt, as we have seen, enjoyed the friendship of Mr. Mon- 
roe, equally with that of Mr. Madison. Indeed, the personal relation ,, 
which he held to Mr. Monroe was even more intimate and confidential ll j,; 
than that which he held to his competitor. This circumstance led to ]a 0: 
the choice of Wirt, as one of a committee in Richmond, to promote ^ 
the success of Mr. Monroe's election. When this choice was com- 
municated to him, he declined the appointment, and took occasion to 
explain to Mr. Monroe the grounds upon which he did so — his prefer- 
ence, at that juncture, for Jlr. Madison. The following letter has 
reference to this matter, and presents, in an advantageous light, the 
delicacy and frankness of the writer. It is proper to remark, that 
this letter was written before the occasion had arisen for the essays 
signed " One of the People." 

TO JAMES MONROE. 

Richmond, February 8, 1808. 
Dear Sir : 

On going into court to-day, I found business enough cut out. for me 
to keep me closely engaged both to-night and to-morrow forenoon. So 
it will not be until to-morrow evening that I shall have it in my power 
to see you on the subject to which you referred this morning. 

Feeling for you the same sincere and cordial friendship that I have 
ever done, since I had first the pleasure of knowing you, and conscious 
that I was now as worthy of your confidence as I have ever been, it 
did not occur to me this morning to state to you a circumstance which, 
perhaps, may make it less agreeable to you to communicate with me 
on the proposed subject, and which may diminish the weight of any 
friendly opinion which I may give on it. On recalling our short in- 
terview of this morning, I think that candom- and honour require me 
to mention this circumstance. It is this. I was called on to act as 
one of the standing committee to promote your electoral ticket. I 
declined it ; stating that, although personally more warmly attached 
to you than to Mr. Madison, — for I knew you much better, — and al- 
though I thought it would make'very little diflference to the happiness 



Chap. XVI.] LETTER TO MR. MONROE. 229 

of the people of the United States, which of you was President, yet, 
for political considerations, I preferred Mr. Madison. I went further, 
— for it was a mutual friend of ours who spoke to me, — I added that 
I much feared, if your friends persisted in running you, after the 
sense of the State and of the United States should bo, at least, strongly 
indicated, if not demonstrated by the votes of the State and congres- 
sional legislatiu-es, that it might have a permanently ill effect on your 
political standing. For, although I myself, and the friends here who 
are in the habit of intercourse with you, might know the truth, yet I 
feared that there was danger that the people of the United States 
might be led to incorporate and identify you with the minority in 
Congress, the opponents of the present most popular administration. 
And if they should take such an opinion in their heads, I feared that 
you were gone irretrievably. Indeed, my dear sir, so strongly have I 
felt this apprehension, that I have been several times on the point of 
going and expressing it to you. Nor has any thing restrained me 
from it but that, having expressed a preference for Mr. Sladison, I 
thought it might be considered indelicate, if no worse, in me to attempt 
to remove the competition. 

I have thought it proper thus to disclose to you what has been my 
past course and opinions on this subject; submitting it to your own 
feelings entirely, whether, after this, you would choose to communicate 
with me as you intended. If this be still your pleasure, I shall be 
happy to wait on you ; and I shall be prepared to give you as sincere 
and friendly an opinion, as if this presidential competition had never 
occurred ; for I tim, in deed and in truth. 

Your friend, 

Wh. Wirt. 

Whilst we have this letter before us, it may be well to show with 
what impressions Mr. Monroe received this friendly explanation. This 
we are enabled to do from a letter of his to Mr. Wirt, not written in 
reply to this, but some months afterwards, when the presidential con- 
test had terminated in the election of Mr. Madison. The communi- 
cation from Wirt, referred to in this letter, I have not seen. Doubt- 
less, the is.sue of the late contest had opened Mr. Monroe's mind to 
the suspicion that his friends might have misconstrued his motives and 
purposes, in submitting his name to the competition in which it was 
used ; and we may suppose also that they felt all the diiBculties of the 
position in which he was placed : that Wirt had intimated this to him, 
in the letter to which this is a reply. This letter from Mr. Monroe 
expresses, with an honourable sensibility, his perception of this 
embarrassment of his friends, and leaves nothing to mar the esteem 

Vol. I. — 20 



230 MR. MONROE'S REPLY. [1808. 

and confidence which had so long subsisted between himself and the 
individual to whom it is addressed. 

Richmond, December 20, 1808, 
Dear Sir : 

Your letter of this day has equally surprised and hurt me, by inti- 
mating a suspicion that it was my desire, on account of the late presi- 
dential contest, to separate from such of my old friends as took part 
against me. I really thought that my conduct had, in no instance, 
given the slightest cause for such a suspicion. Let me ask, has it 
done so in regard to you ? Did I not consult you on some important 
topics, after 1 knew that you were not in my favour? And have I 
ever returned to town, after an absence from it, without calling on 
you ? Have you ever returned those calls ? 

These circumstances produced no eifect on my mind of alienation. 
I considered the existing state as being equally painful to them and 
me, and I waited for its transit to show what my real feeling and dis- 
position were to those of my old friends alluded to. Yoix will be sen- 
sible that while that contest depended, the delicacy of my situation 
imposed on me the necessity of much retirement, and that, by observ- 
iup- it, I respected the personal honour and independence of my friends, 
as well as my own. 

It is a fact, that at the moment I received your letter, I was en- 
gaged in writing notes to yourself and other friends to dine with me 
on Thursday. This will show that I shall accept your invitation with 
pleasure for that day, postponing my invitation to the next. I need 
not add that I shall at all times be happy to see and confer with you 
on such topics as you desire. 

Being very sincerely 

Your friend, 

James Monroe. 

We recur now to the track of Mr. Wirt's correspondence, oifering 
a few letters which were written during the period of the political 
excitements I have described. In these letters will be found some 
glimpses of personal history which may not be unacceptable to the 
reader. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, May 11, 1808. 
Mv Dear Friend : 

^ * * * * * 

The essays signed '' One of the People" were written by me under 
tic pressure of importunity from some of my friends here, at a period 



Chap. XVI.] LETTERS TO CARR. 231 

■when I could ill spare the time, and in such haste that the pvinter'a 
boy was, half the time I was engaged in them, pushing me for the 
copy. Under such circumstances, you will not be surprised that the 
composition is loose and coarse, and the style, in many passages, 
marked with a heat and asperity which the subject did not require. 

I wish^ had taken more time about them. The cause was a good 
one, and the protestors might have been castigated with a decorum at 
which the modest cheek of Madison would have felt no blush. But 
it is too late to repine ; I must endeavour to profit by experience; and 
to keep myself more cool and discreet hereafter. 

You have seen the reply by " One of the Protestors." This is 

. His style is certainly not that of a gentleman, and my first 

impulse was to have answered him ciu7i argumenio bacuUno ; but re- 
membering that I was the aggressor, and had, perhaps, treated the 
gentleman a little harshly, my next impulse was to suffer the vapid 
stuff to die in peace, and the party to sink down, without interruption, 
into that nothingness to which they are so rapidly tending. Some of 
my friends here think I ought to reply. Will not this be giving an 
importance to those publications which they do not deserve ? Will it 
not be impoliticly protracting the existence of the minority ? Will 
they not perish soon enough of themselves, if we let them alone ? 

When I said, in the Enquirer, that I should be glad to receive the 
promised respects of " One of the Protestors," I made sure that John 
Randolph was coming out. I would have engaged with Achilles, but 
I do not relish a combat with one of his myrmidons. If I thought, 
however, that the people, — I mean the' judicious part of them, — ex- 
pected it of me, I would reply to him. What do they say with you ? 
What does Peter say of it ? What do you say ? Let me have your 
answer as soon as possible, since, if I am to reply, it ought to be done 
immediately. 

* * * ^ * * 

Let me be remembered to all our friends. 

Heaven bless you ! 

Wm. Wirt. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, May 23, 1808. 
My dear Chevalier : 

****** 

I was not much pleased with the style of " One of the People." 1 
am sorry for having written it — not for any thing that the calf 's-hcad, 
"One of the Protestors," has said, but because I do not think that 
it is in the style in which Mr. Madison should be defended, nor in 
which any man should write v^'ho aspires at maintaining in society a 
pure and dignified character. The protestors deserved to be scorched; 



232 LETTER TO EDWARDS. [180S. 

but I think it might have been done even more effectually, and cer- 
tainly more to the honour both of Mr. Madison and the writer, by a 
chaste and polite style. But the die is cast ; and the question is, how 
to carry on the game. 

This morning has brought out the third and last number of " One 
of the Protestors.'' A more infamous piece of personal abuse, of the 
very lowest order, has never been published. All my friends here 
concur in the opinion that he does not deserve a reply. I shall, per- 
haps, give him a short one ; but the Court of Appeals and Federal 
Court being both in session, and there being several of my clients in 
town, pestering me with the examination of Commissioner's reports, I 
have not a moment to give to the consideration of the protestor. 
- Meantime you would be pleased to see with what composure and 
peace I take this scurrility. I believe that it can do me no possible 
injury. If I thought it could, I would certainly resort to the stick. 
But while my life is constantly belying his charges, they will not be 
relied on. The reader who does not know me will inquire into their 
truth of those who do, and learning that they are false, will estimate 
the writer as he deserves, and me as I deserve. 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

I conclude this chapter with another letter to Mr. Edwards, filled, 
as all Wirt's letters to this worthy gentleman are, with the affection 
and gratitude of a son. 



TO BENJAMIN EDWARDS. 

Richmond, July 2, 1808. 
My Dear and Ever Honoured Friend and Father : 

I have read, half a dozen times, with swimming eyes, your precious 
letter of the 8th of April last. Our courts have been sitting, without 
intermission, ever since the 1st of February till the 28th of last 
month, or I should sooner have acknowledged your goodness in 
writing to me under so much pain. Your friendship and affection 
for me, are among the purest and sweetest sources of happiness that I 
have upon this earth. Judge, then, with what feelings I hear of 
your ill health. Yet I trust that the same gracious Providence, 
''who makes the good his care," and who raised you once before 
from the bed of torture, will spare you still to your family and friends. 
I have been afraid that you do not take exercise enough, yet Mr. 
Street, the editor of " The Western World," handed mc, the day be- 
fore yesterday, a letter from my brother Ninian, dated April 11th, 
three days after yours, in which he says that you had been, lately, at 



Chap. XVI.] LETTER TO EDWARDS. 233 

his house. That, I apprehend, is nearly as long a journey as would 
bring you to the mineral waters in Virginia. Would not this excur- 
sion, aided by the waters and the animation of the company, promise 
to give a tone to your system, and remove the torpor and debility cf 
which you complain ? 

I wish you could believe it prudent and advisable for you to take 
such a step, because I should then have it in my power to see you 
once more. I would certainly meet you at the Springs, and receive , 
your blessing; and my wife and children, from the sentiments they 
have for you, would accompany me, with all the piety of pilgrims. 
My imagination has dwelt upon this meeting, until I begin to feel a 
strong presentiment that it will certainly take place. My brother 
Ninian and his family would, I dare say, attend you. What a happy 
gi-oup should we form ! How would we talk over the days that are 
past, till torpor and debility, and sickness and sorrow would fly and 
leave vis to our enjoyments. What do you say to this project? I 
have a sanguine hope that you will find it as judicious in reference to 
your health, as I am sure it would be exquisitely grateful to your 
feelings. And if we meet once, and your health should become 
settled again, might we not devise a scheme of meeting at the same 
place every two or three years ? By these means our children would 
become acquainted, and the friendship which has subsisted between 
us would be continued in them. 

I leave it to your heart and your fancy to develope this idea, 
through all its consequences. To me, the anticipation, merely, is 
delightful; and, in spite of Mr. Harvie's doctrine to the contrary, I 
believe the reality would be still more so. Will you not think of 
this ? Take medical counsel upon it, and let me know the result ? 

Yes ! — there is nothing more true than what you say. " When 
we must die, there is nothing like a well-grounded hope of future 
happiness, except a perfect faith, which removes all doubt." I thank 
God that I have lived long enough, and seen sorrow enough, to be 
convinced that religion is the proper element of the soul, where alone 
it is at home and at rest. That to any other state, it is an alien, va- 
grant, restless, perturbed and miserable, — dazzled for an hour by a 
dream of temporal glory, but awaking to disappointment and perma- 
nent anguish. It is the bed of death which chases away all these 
illusive vapours of the brain which have cheated us through life, and 
which shows us to ourselves, naked as we are. Then, if not sooner, 
every man finds the truth of your sentiment, the importance of a 
well-grounded Christian hope of future happiness. We need not, 
indeed, so awful a monitor as a death-bed, to convince us of the in- 
stability of earthly hopes of any kind. We have but to look upon 
nations abroad, and men at home, to see that everything under the 
sun is uncertain and fluctuating ; that prosperity is a cheat, and virtue 
often but a name. Look upon the map of Europe. See what it was 
20* 



234 LETTER TO EDWARDS. [1808. J 

fifty or sixty years ago — what it has since been, and what it is likely ■ 
to become. Formerly partitioned into separate, independent and en- 
ergetic monarchies, with vigorous chiefs at their head, maintaining 
■with infinite policy, the balance of power among them, and believing 
that balance eternal : France, in the agonies of the birth of liberty, 
her campus martius resounding with fetes, iu celebration of that 
event : the contagion spreading into other nations : monarchs trem- 
bling for their crowns, and combining to resist the diffusion of the 
example : the champions of liberty, and Bonaparte among the rest, 
victorious every where, and every where carrying with them the 
wishes and prayers of America. Yet now see, all at once, the revo- 
lution gone, like a flash of lightning ; France suddenly buried beneath 
the darkness of despotism, and the voracious tyrant swallowing up 
kingdom after kingdom. The combining monarchs thought that they 
were in danger of nothing but the propagation of the doctrines of 
liberty; but ruin has come upon them from another quarter. The 
doctrines of liberty are at an end, and so are the monarchies of Europe , 
— all fused and melted down into one great and consolidated despotism. I 
How often have I drunk that Caesar's health, with a kind of religious 
devotion ! How did all America stand on tiptoe, during his brilliant 
campaigns in Italy at the head of the army of the republic ! With 
what rapture did we follow his career ; and how did our bosoms bound 
at the prospect of an emancipated world ! Yet see in what it has all 
ended ! The total extinction of European liberty, and the too proba- 
ble prospect of an enslaved world. Alas ! what are human calculations 
\.of happiness ; and v»'ho can ever more rely upon them ! 

If we look to the state of things in our own country, still we shall 
be forced to cry, "all is vanity and vexation of spirit." Look at the 
public prints with which our country is deluged, and see the merci- 
less massacre of public and private character, of social and domestic 
peace and haj^piness. Look at the debates in Congress. Where is 
the coolness, the decorum, the cordial comparison of ideas for the 
public good, which you would look for in an assembly of patriots and 
freemen, such as was seen in the old Congress of 1776? Nothing 
of it is now to be seen. All is rancour, abuse, hostility and hatred, 
confusion and ruin. 

***** H< * 

According to my present impressions of happiness, I would not 
exchange the good opinion of one virtuous and judicious man, for the 
acclamation of the millions that inhabit our country; not that these 
would not be grateful, — but as for taking them as a basis of happi- 
ness, I would as soon think of building a house on the billows of the 
sea. 

*i^ ^u ^^ *^ ^# xi# «^ 

^x* ^^ ^p '^ ^^ 'T* '^ 

Yours most sincerely, 

Wm. Wirt. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

1809. 

HIS SERVICE IN THE LEGISLATURE. — PREFERENCE FOR PRIVATE 
LIFE. — LETTERS TO EDWARDS. — LITERARY DREAMS. — ACRIMONY 
OF PARTY POLITICS. — EDUCATION. — MISGIVINGS IN REGARD TO 
THE GOVERNMENT. 

Wirt's service in the Legislature of Virginia, during the session 
of the winter of 1808-9, was the beginning and end of his connection 
with public life through the medium of popular election. This as- 
sumption of the character of a representative, may be regarded rather 
as an accident in his career than the result of any meditated plan. 
He seems to have been impressed with the conviction that popular 
favour was too frail a staff for a wise man to lean upon for support, 
however useful it might sometimes be to enable him to walk more 
rapidly upon his journey, or leap over an occasional impediment in 
his path. Confiding in his ability to move onwai'd without this help, 
he preferred the success which was to be won by his own labours in 
a private sphere, to the renown which he might reasonably have ex- 
pected from the exhibition of his talents upon the stage of public 
business. We may not impute this determination to a want of civic 
virtue. We have seen that no man in the community of which he 
was a member was more prompt than he to make a personal sacrifice 
to public duty when it seemed to be required ; nor was there any who 
felt a more lively concern in the progress of public events. We have 
the proof of this in the readiness with which he volunteered his ser- 
vices in expectation of the war, and in the zeal with which he partici- 
pated in the great question of the presidential election. We may 
infer from these incidents, that he would not have refused a summons 
to the duties of public station, if he had believed that his personal 
submission to such a call were enjoined upon him by any clear exi- 

(235) 



236 SERVICE IN THE LEGISLATURE. [1809, 

gency which could not have been met by other citizens as well adapted 
to the service and more anxious to undertake it. His modest estimate 
of himself, so apparent in his letters, suggested to him, doubtless, that 
no such exigency could exist, and thus justified him in the resolution 
he had adopted. The theory of our government clearly implies a 
duty on the part of every citizen, to render such service to the state 
as may be necessary to the conduct of its affaii-s, and which it may be 
in his power to contribute. Where the people make this demand 
upon any one citizen, his refusal to comply with it can only be justi- 
fied by the fact that others as capable may be found, or that his com- 
pliance may expose him to the sacrifice of important personal interests, 
such as the community have no right to ask of a citizen except in 
some great public emergency. It does not often happen that an oc- 
casion arises to test the strength of this obligation, and, therefore, it 
is but little familiarized to the reflections of the people, — although 
we are not without notable and illustrious examples in our history, 
of the grave submission of the wisest and most enlightened patriots to 
its dictation. 

During the brief term of Wirt's service in the Legislature, we have 
to note his participation in a proceeding there which attracted much 
public attention in the State, from its connection with an exciting 
topic of national concern. The interesting posture of our affairs, in 
relation to the principal belligerents of Europe, had fallen under the 
notice of the Legislature in some resolutions upon the subject, which 
were referred to a special committee, of which the delegate from: 
Richmond was one. A report upon the resolutions was drawn up i 
by him. This report presented a review of the French decrees against i 
American commerce, and of the British orders in Council, in both 
of which the country had found so much to vex and exasperate the 
national pride. The theme was treated with the spirit chai*acteristic 
of the time, and furnished occasion for the expression of strong and 
indignant language, pointed and polished with all the skill which 
the author was able to employ. In his review of the subject, the 
course of Mr. Jefferson's administration was brought into notice, and 
was vindicated with the zeal of an advocate impelled not more by con- 
scientious approval of the wisdom of its policy, than by warm personal 
friendship for the leader by whom it was directed. 



1 



Chap. XVII.] LETTER TO EDWARDS. 237 

"With this brief reference to the short political episode in the career 
of the subject of my memoir, I continue his letters. 

TO BENJAMIN EDWARDS. 

Richmond, February 26, 1809. 
Dear Sir: 

******* 

And now let me tell you how grateful I feel for this, " the longest 
letter that you have written since the commencement of your disease." 
It is so perfectly in the style of your conversation that I heard the 
sound of yom' voice in every line, and saw every turn in the well- 
remembered expression of your face. * * * * 
There are parts of your letter which make me smile. You wish me 
to aspire to the Presidency of the United States : — this is so much 
like your INIount Pleasant talk ! T/iCW, it was extravagant enough, 
although at that time I was but sixteen or seventeen years of age, 
and had a whole life before me to work wonders in ; but now you 
seem to forget that I am in my six-and-thirtieth year, by which time 
the colour of a man's destiny is pretty well fixed, and that besides 
being so old, I have yet a fortune to make for my family before I 
could tm-n my thoughts to politics. No, no, my dear friend, I make 
no such extravagant calculations of future greatness. If I can make 
my family independent, and leave to my children the inheritance of a 
respectable name, my expectations, and, believe me, my wishes, will 
be fulfilled. For the ofiice of Secretary of State, under Mr. Madison, 
I am just about as fit as I am to be the Pope of Rome : — nor ought 
I, nor would I, accept it, in my present circumstances. It would be 
to sacrifice my wife and children on the altar of political ambition. 
I have no such ambition, and my not ha^^ng it, is one among a 
thousand proofs that I am unfit for that kind of life ; for nature, I 
believe, never yet gave the capacity without the inclination. 1 am 
writing unaffectedly and from my heart. I know enough of the world 
to know that political power is not happiness, and that my happiness 
is nowhere but in private life and in the bosom of my beloved family. 
I think I may be able to attain distinction enough in my profession 
to have it in my power, in ten years, to retire from the bar into the 
country, and give myself up to the luxury of literature and my fire- 
side. You will say that this is selfish — that a man's fii'st duty is to 
his country ; and you will tell me of Curtius, and Cato, and Brutus. 
I admit the grandeur of their virtues, but I am neither a Curtius, a 
Cato, nor a Brutus. There are - thousands of my countrymen 
better qualified than myself for those high ofiices, and as willing as 
capable. Should I attempt to give myself the precedence to such 
men, it would not be love of country, but self, that would impel mo. 



238 LOCKE'S ESSAY. [1809. 

The wish to see my country prosper is not compatible with a wish to i 
see the reins of government in hands that are unfit to hold them ; and i 
to wish them in my own, would he to wish them in such hands. 
Hence my duty to my country is so far from opposing that it accords 
with the real wish of my heart for independence and domestic pcaci-. 
These are the principles by which I am regulating my life, and I 
should be almost as sorry to have them disturbed, as a Christip.n 
would the foundations of his faith. 

Monroe is certainly a virtuous and excellent man. I opposed his 
election, but my opinion of him is unaltered. Bj'-the-bye, my dear 
wife, who is a good federalist hy inheritance, drew her pencil through 
that part of your letter in which you speak of the federalists and 
tories who supported his election. She wanted to show your letter 
to her mother ; but as both her father and mother are federalists of 
the first ioafer, and supported Monroe, she was afraid that this passage 
would defeat the effect which she wished the letter to produce — that 
is, to inspire them with the same love and respect for you which she 
feels herself. I think it a misfortune to Monroe that he had the 
support of which you speak ; but as it was unsolicited and undesired 
by him, I do not think he ought to be blamed for it. I wish the 
federalists were all like you — Madisonian federalists; and I wish the 
republicans were all like him, — that is, tolerant, candid, charitable 
and dispassionate. I should then have some hopes of the duration 
of the republic ; — but as it is, may Heaven protect us ! If you knew 
Mr. Jefferson personally and intimately, you would know him to be 
among the most simple and artless characters upon earth. His fault 
is, that he is too unguarded : if he had more of General Washington's 
reserve, he would be less in the power of his enemies than he is. I 
do not know that this would make him a more amiable man, but it 
would make him a happier one. 

* -^ * * -Sf * 

I am delighted with the account you give me of Cyrus' parts. Has 
he read Locke's Essay on the Human Understanding? If 'not, I 
wish he would try it : I consider it a pretty good test of a young man's 
vigour. When I was about fourteen years old, a friend made me very 
flattering promises, if I would read Locke through twice, and produce 
a certificate from a gentleman whom he named, that I was master of 
his meaning. He intimated that I should be considered as a sort of 
phenomenon if I achieved this task. It was on Sunday, I recollect, 
when I received this letter; and I went instantly to Parson Hunt's 
library, took out the book, and, spreading a blanket on the floor, up 
stairs, laid down flat on my breast, — the posture in which I had been 
accustomed to get my Homer's lesson, and which I therefore supposed 
was peculiarly favourable to the exertion of the mind. I was soon 
heels over head among " innate ideas," subjects which I had never 
before heard of, and on which I had not a single idea of any kind, 



Chap. XVII.] LOCKE'S ESSAY. 239 

either innate or acquired. I stuck to him, however, manfully, and 
plunged on, pretty intelligently, till I got to his chapter on " Identity 
and Diversity," and there I stuck fast, in the most hopeless despair ; 
nor did I ever get out of that mire, until I again met with the book 
in Albemarle, when I was about twenty-three years of age. Even 
then, as I approached the chapter on Identity and Diversity, I felt as 
shy as the Scotch parson's horse did, when repassing, in summer, part 
of a road in which he had stuck fast the preceding winter. Cyrus is 
two years beyond the time at which I made the experiment, and I do 
not doubt that he will bound over it like the reindeer over the snows 
of Lapland. Locke is certainly a frigid writer to a young man of high 
fancy. But whoever wishes to train himself to address the human 
judgment successfully, ought to make Locke his bosom friend and 
constant companion. He introduces his reader to a most intimate ac- 
quaintance with the structure and constitution of the mind ; vmfolds 
every property which belongs to it; shows how alone the judgment 
can be approached and acted on; through what avenues, and with 
what degrees of proof, a man may calculate with certainty on its dif- 
ferent degrees of assent. Besides this, Locke's book is auxiliary to 
the same process for which I have been so earnestly recommending 
the mathematics ; that is, giving to the mind a fixed and rooted habit 
of clear, close, cogent and irresistible reasoning. The man who can 
read Locke for an hour or two, and then lay him down and argue 
feebly upon any subject, may hang up his fiddle for life : to such a 
one, nature must have denied the original stamina of a great mind. 

That Heaven may restore and confirm your health, and continue to 
smile with beneficence upon yourself and your family, (who, I believe, 
are as dear to my heart as the closest consanguinity could make them,) 
is the devout and fervent prayer of 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

The next letter contains a pleasant day-dream, characteristic of the 
ambition of the writer, but which, unfortunately, was never realized. 
We may smile at this picture of hopes, which the contingencies of 
after life may be said rather to have displaced for others more brilliant, 
■^han to have disappointed. 

TO BENJAMIN EDWARDS. 

Richmond, June 23, 1809. 
My ever-honoured Friend : 

Yours of the 15th ult. reached this place a week ago. I was then 
in Norfolk, in the Admiralty Court, and learned, with sorrow, by a 
letter from my wife, your inability to meet us at the Springs. In 



240 LITERARY DREAMS. [1809. 

consequence of this, our own resolution of going tliitlier is very much 
shaken ; and I doubt much whether we shall go higher up the coun- 
try than to my wife's sister's, Mrs. Cabell, who lives in Buckingham, 
a county bounded to the west by the Blue Eidge. There we shall 
get the mountain air, avoid a hot journey and a good deal of expense, 
which we would have encountered cheerfully, in the hope of meeting 
you and some portion of your family. This inducement removed, the 
objections to the jaunt remain without a counterpoise ; and we must 
submit with as good a grace as possible to the disappoiutmeut, still 
cherishing the hope that, by some means or other, at some place or 
other, we shall yet meet before we bid adieu to the world. In the 
meantime, lest it should be otherwise, from your parental anxiety for 
me, I am sure you would be glad to know what is to become of me, 
and how I am to pass through life. I have looked into this subject 
of my future life with a vision as steady and distinct as I can com- 
mand, and now give you the result. In the course of ten years, with- 
out some great and signal misfortune, I have reason to hope that I 
shall be worth near upon or quite one hundred thousand dollars in 
cash, besides having an elegant and well-furnished establishment in 
this town. I propose to vest twenty-five thousand dollai's in the pur- 
chase, improvement and stocking of a farm somewhere on James Eivcr, 
in as healthy a country as I can find, having also the advantage of 
fertility. There I will have my books, and with my family spend 
three seasons of the year — spring, summer and fell. Those months 
I shall devote to the improvement of my children, the amusement of 
my wife, and perhaps the endeavour to raise by my pen a monument 
to my name. The winter we will spend in Kichmond, if Eichmond 
shall present superior attractions to the country. The remainder of 
my cash I will invest in some stable and productive fund, to raise 
portions for my children. In these few words, you have the scheme 
of my future life. You see there is no noisy ambition in it ; there is 
none, I believe, in my composition. It is true I love distinction, but 
I can only enjoy it in tranquillity and innocence. My soul sickens 
at the idea of political intrigue and faction : I would not choose to be 
the innocent victim of it, much less the criminal agent. Observe, I 
do not propose to be useless to society. My ambition will lie in open- 
ing, raising, refining and improving the understandings of my country- 
men by means of light and cheap publications. I do not think that I 
am Atlas enough to sustain a ponderous work : while a speculation of 
fifty or a hundred pages on any subject, theological, philosophical, 
political, moral or literary, would afford me very great delight, and be 
executed, at least, with spirit. Thus I hope to be employed, if alive, 
ten years hence, and so to the day of my death, or as long as I can 
write any thing worth the reading. Voltaire (voluminous as his works 
now are, as bound up together) used to publish, in this way, detached 
pamphlets • and so did many others of the most distinguished writers 



Chap. XVII.] PROSPECT OF LIFE. 241 

in Europe, — all the essayists and dramatists, of course, and many of 
the philosophers. This mode of publication is calculated to give wider 
currency to a work. There is nothing terrible in the price, or the 
massive bulk of the volume. The price is so cheap, and the reading 
bo light, as to command a reader in every one who can read at all, and 
thereby to embrace the whole country. May not a man, employed in 
this way, be as useful to his country as by haranguing eloquently in 
the Senate ? The harangue and the harangue-maker produce a tran- 
sient benefit, and then perish together. The writer, if he have merit, 
speaks to all countries and all ages ; and the benefits which he pro- 
duces flow on forever. To enjoy them both would be, indeed, desira- 
ble to a man who could feel suificient delight in the applause of his 
eloquence to counterbalance the pain which the cabals, intrigues, ca- 
lumnies and lies of the envious and malimant would be sure to inflict 
upon him. This I think I could never do; and I shall, therefore, 
attempt that kind of fame which alone I can find reconcilable with 
my happiness. 

By perusing these two pages, you may look forward through futu- 
rity to the end" of my life, and, from the point on which you now 
stand, take in my whole prospect. One thing, at least, your adopted 
son promises you ; that he will transmit to his posterity a name of 
unblemished honour : and he flatters himself that in future time, they 
will look back to him as the founder of a race that will have done no 
discredit to their country. This is vanity, but, I hope, not vexation 
to your spirit : — for with whom can I be free, if not with you ? I 
flatter myself that you have that kind of love for me, which would 
make you desirous of seeing how I shall conduct myself through life ; 
but since, in the ordinary course of things, this cannot be, the next 
degree of enjoyment is to see it by anticipation, and for this purpose 
it is, that I have been trying to lead you to the summit of Pisgah, and 
show you my promised land. 

But enough of it. Your letter gives a view of the advanced life 
of parents, not the most cheering that could be imagined. But then, 
those children whom you went to Kentucky to live with, although 
widely dispersed, are all in the road of honour, prosperity and happi- 
ness. They could not have remained with you always : you should 
not have desired it. They were to be established in the world; and 
you have the delightful knowledge that they are well-established. 
What a feast is this reflection to a heart like yours ! Contrast it with 
the idea of their always having remained about your house, your 
daughters old maids, and your sons lazy old bachelors. You would 
have had their company, indeed, — but what sort of company would 
it have been ? And if you once admitted the idea that they were to 
be married or settled, I am sure you were not chimerical enough to 
expect that they would all settle around Shiloh, like so many small bub- 
bles surrounding a large one. I doubt very much the happiness of a 

Vol. I. — 21 Q 



242 FAMILY CONCERNS. [1809. 

neighbourhood so constructed, even if it were reasonable to expect 
such a construction. I incline to think that distance gives you a juster 
value for each other, and that when you do meet, your happiness 
makes up in intenseness what it wants in frequency ; so that upon the 
whole, the sum of your happiness is pretty much the same. 

But, my ever honoured friend, any man with your practical judg- 
ment must have foreseen this result — that your children would marry, 
and that their own parental duties would force them to follow then* 
fortune wherever she pointed the way. And how happy is your fate 
compared with that of hundreds, thousands and millions of other 
parents. No child has ever wounded the honour of your house. You 
have no reprobate son to mourn : no daughter's ruin to bring down 
your gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. How many are there who 
have ! When I think of these agonizing, soiil-rending calamities, I 
almost shudder at the idea of being a father. " Yet in Providence I 
trust." 

I had heard of Ninian's wish for the governorship of the Illinois, 
from himself, and had written to Mr. Madison (whom I know very 
well,) my impressions of his (Ninian's) character. I know not whe- 
ther the change of office is for better or worse ; and am sorry to learn 
that you think it against reason and judgment. The office, I presume, 
will impose more labour upon him, and be more likely to embroil him 
in quarrels and trouble. But will not these be balanced by the power 
which he will have of providing for his children, and ushering them 
advantageously into life ? 

I am happy to hear that Cyrus has laid siege to the mathematics. 
He will, no doubt, soon be tired of it, and when he is so, he ought to 
turn to lloUin's account of his namesake's siege of Babylon, to see 
what patience, enterprise and heroism can achieve; and, though he 
may not sec at present the benefit which is to result from his labours, 
he will feel it by-and-byc, when the arguments of his adversaries fall 
before him like the walls of Jericho at the sound of the horns. 

By-tlic-bye, my wife is afraid that you took too gi-avely her little 
gayety in pencilling some of the lines of your letter touching the 
federalists. I told her that, 1o my sorrow, you were a federalist tooj 
and that your observation could scarcely have been intended to cover 
the whole of a party to which you yourself belonged. The act was, 
as it related to herself, a mere sally of sportivcness ; and in this light 
she begs you to consider it. I have some hopes that, in time, I shall 
have better luck with her than I'aul had with Felix; that I shall al- 
together persuade her to be a good republican. This will be the eifect, 
however, of living long together, and wearing down, by slow degrees, 
the little federal asperities which her parents gave her; that is to say 
if my own political asperities, as being made of softer stuff, do not 
giv» way first. You know that in rencontres of this sort, men have 
not much to expect beyond the pleasure of being vanquished. 



Chap. XVlI.] LETTER TO CARR. 243 



Hci-e is another long and vapid letter. No wonder this time, for I 
have written under the pressure of about ninety-six degrees of heat. 
My wife and children unite with me in love to you, Mrs. E. and our 
brothers and sisters. Heaven bless you, restore you to health, and 
preserve you to your family. 

Yours, 

Wm, Wirt. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, December 21, 1808. 
My De.\r Friend : 

I have this moment your favour of the 18th inst., for which I thank 
you from the bottom of my heart. I love your letters. They are 
your very self God bless you. You give me great pleasure. 

Yes ! — your brother Peter, the General and myself, had indeed 
planned a trip to Washington, this winter, which was to embrace you, 

and into which ^^ my brother the Governor^' Cabell, (as old S 

used to say of Patrick Henry,) entered with all his soul, as soon as 
mentioned ; but you know we have Burns' authority for saying that 
" the wisest schemes of mice and men gang aft awry." 

We were at the Springs, and looked at the subject at a very great 
distance, — too great a distance to discern the obstacles that might 
oppose our design. Now that we have come to the starting point, I 
find that the trip would break in, materially, on my professional en- 
gagements for the winter, and disable me from taking the field, in the 
spring, with the advantage I ought. This is no fictitious obstacle. 
Om- courts are, at length, all up, and I have set in to do what, to my 
shame, I have never done before, — prepare, through the winter, for 
the combats of the succeeding year, leaving nothing for future pre- 
paration, but future business. Thus, our first court is the Chancery : 
I lay my docket before me, take up my first cause, and prepare the 
notes of my argument in that, before I quit it ; so, to the next, and 
so on through that docket, and every other in which I am concerned. 
Thus I come out, m the spring, as Billy Pope says, like a sarpent. 
Is not this an object sufiiciently important to justify the declension 
of the jaunt to Washington ? Yet how I should enjoy it ! I have 
no doubt of the truth of your opinion, that these men loom larger 
from their distance. We know those who cope with them, and who 
at least equal, if not surpass them ; and even these are but men. 

No, my dear friend ; I know you are too manly and dignified to 
flatter any one, much less a friend ; and I know few men, very few 
indeed, (if one,) whose judgments are so little liable to be warped 
from the truth, by prejudice and partiality. Yet, when you speak 
of its being of any peculiar importance to me to become known to 



244 THE OLD REPORTERS. 11809, 

the great men of the nation, I am lost in the attempt to conjecture 
your meaning. 

The course of politics is neither for my happiness nor foi-tune. I 
am poor. While I continue so, it is my first duty to think of my 
wife and cliildren, unless my country were placed in an emergen ej^, 
iVom which I, alone, could redeem her : a crisis, the possibility of 
which, it is not very easy to conceive. 

My wife says that she should feel my safety no where more secure 
than in your hands ; for, let me tell you (aside) that you are a rare, 
a very rare instance, in which there is a perfect coincidence in opinion, 
between her and myself, as to the taste and friendship of my asso- 
ciates. I have heard General M make a complaint against his 

wife, that his greatest favourites were seldom her's. I suspect the 
reason with both our wives, is prettj^ much the same, — to wit, that 
some of our greatest ftwourites are apt, occasionally, to tempt us into 
frolics. My wife has seen, that this is not the case with you ; for you 
never cross the line of the temperate zone, and there is no mist of 
prejudice, therefore, between her judgment and your good qualities. 
At the good qualities of several of my other friends, she is obliged to 
look through the smoke of cigars, and the vapours of the grape ; a 
medium so impenetrable to her, that I cannot account for her having 
ever conceived a partiality for me, except by the obscurity with which 
I was thus surrounded, and the force of her imagination. But, mark 
me, I am speaking only of past years. For, sir, I have made a large 
collection of old law reporters, with the plates of the authors in front. 
Coke, Grotius, Rolle, Vaughan, &c. I see, from the faces of these 
men, who lived so shortly after Shakspeare, (and, indeed, of old Coke 
and Dyer who lived with him,) that this great poet was painting from 
nature, in this, as well as in every other instance, when he imputed 
to these men of the law, ''the eye severe, and beard of formal cut." 
It was, no doubt, owing to their recluse and austere life, and the in- 
tensity of their studies, that they contracted this severe look. I bar 
tlie beard ; but, in other respects, if the same cause is to produce the 
same effect, look to see me with razor eyes cast a little to one side, in 
all the severity of thought, and muscles fixed as marble, when next 
you see me. 

To be sure, I had two-and-twenty gentlemen, yesterday, eating 
venison, and drinking wine with me. But this, sir, was only a pa- 
renthesis ; and, I am too well read in Blair, to admit many of them, 
because I think, with him, that nothing is more apt to darken a man's 
understanding, if not to extinguish it altogether. 

I '11 tell you what, sir, I begin to feel like somebody in this world. 
My son is beginning to read, and my daughter writes her name A'cry 
smartly ; and it gives me, I can tell j'ou, no small consequence in my 
own eyes, to be the parent of two sueli cliililren. I have a notion of 
making my daughter a classical scholar. What do you say to it? 



CHAf. XVII.] ACRIMONY OF PARTY POLITICS. 245 

She is quick, and has a genius. Her person will not be unpleasing, 
and her mind may be made a leauty. This course of education will, 
indeed, keep her out of the world until she is seventeen years old ; 
but, I think, so much the better, — for I would not wish her to be 
married under twenty, which, if she is attractive, would be very apt 
to be the case, if she enters the world, as is usual, at fourteen. What 
do you say to all this ? Commune with me, as a friend, upon this. 

I should like our girls, four or five years hence, to be corresponding 
in French. Does not your heart spring at this idea? If not, you 
are no father to my mind. 

My wife desires to be affectionately remembered to yours. So do 
I too, and both of us to you, — which is a rhyme unintended. 

Greet your brothers kindly in my name, and all our friends. 

Need I tell you what you so well know, that 
I am, as ever, 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

These letters indicate a settled determination, at least for the pre- 
sent, to avoid the engagements of public life. Wirt, in common with 
many grave and reflecting men of that time, often fell into a despond- 
ing tone of remark upon the future prospects of the country. The 
absolute ferocity of party politics at that day, alarmed them. Never 
since that period, — although our later experience upon this point is 
not without abundant examples of an extreme of harshness — never 
have political divisions been attended with so widely diffused and so 
bitter a spirit of personal rancour and denunciation. In the artful 
exhibitions of talented demagogues, perhaps, the present generation 
may be entitled to claim a greater skill and a more pervading influ- 
ence, than that which preceded it; but at the time to which we refer, 
society was more distinctly marked and separated by party lines than 
it ever has been since. Considerate men regarded this temper in the 
people with anxiety and doubt as to its ultimate effect upon the insti- 
tutions of the country, and they felt unhappy forebodings of a catas- 
trophe which many believed not to be far distant. The public mind 
has since grown familiar with these tempests, and, finding how easily 
the ship rights itself after a hea\7 blow, has dismissed its apprehen- 
sions and learned to look with confidence and composure upon the 
supposed dangers which filled the hearts of the past generation with 
dismay. 

21* 



246 LETTER TO EDWARDS. [1809. 

In the following letter to Mr. Edwards, wo shall find the utterance 
of some gloomy misgivings as to the fate of the Union^ which may be 
said to express an opinion not confined to the writer. The first por- 
tion of this letter touches a question of education, and may be profit- 
ably perused by every youthful aspirant after professional success. 

TO BENJAMIN EDWARDS. 

Richmond, December 22, 1809. 
My Dear Friend : 

*^u >±^ ^±f ^1^ «i^ o^ 

'7* #j* ^j% ^j% rf^ ^^ 

I think you are rather hard upon my brother Ninian, when you 
speak of the Quixotic schemes which he has carried to his territory. 
It strikes me that a fellow who has made his way through the presi- 
dency of a Court of Appeals, to the government of a Temtory, de- 
serves to have his solidity a little better thought of. I suspect that 
the Knight of La Mancha would never have achieved such adventures 
as those. I own that I cannot, see what he will gain by the exchange, 
except (what I should suppose he has no need of) land : but he has 
displayed so much soundness of judgment that I do not doubt motives 
exist sufiicient to justify his conduct. I am sorry that Cyi'us is de- 
prived of lilcAUister. I hear this man every where spoken of as a 
prodigy of learning and mental force; not very well qualified per- 
haps for the instruction of children, but highly so for the instruction 
of young men, — and Cj'rus is now a young man. McAllister, I am 
told, is distinguished for the clearness and cogency of his style of 
reasoning. What a treasure would such a man be to a young man 
of genius and enterprise who was destined for the bar ! TThis power 
of analysis, the power of simplifying a complex subject, and showing 
all its parts clearly and distinctly, is the forle of Chief Justice Mar- 
shall, and is the great desideratum of every man who aims at emmence 
in the law. Genius, fancy, and taste may fashion the drapery and 
put it on ; but Reason alone is the grand sculptor, that can form the 
statue itself.^ Hence it is that I have been so anxious for Cyrus to 
cultivate the mathematics — not for the sake of being a mathematician, 
but to give to his mind the habit of close and conclusive reasoning. 
I hope he will still be placed in some situation where he may pursue 
this science. I would have him mathematician enough to be able to 
comprehend and repeat, with ease, by calculations of his own, Sir 
Isaac Newton's mathematical demonstrations of the principles of na- 
tural philosophy. Locke says, if you would have your son a reasoner, 
let him read Chillingworth : I say, if you would have him a reasoner 
let him read Locke. I think you will find that the mathematics and 
Locke will put a head in his tub ; for, what you censure is not, I ap- 
prehend, any defect in the faculty of memory, but rather the inatten- 



Chap. XVII.] GLOOMY FOKf^BODINGS. 247 

tion and volatility so natural to his time of life, for which there is no 
better cure than what I am recommending. 

'A- -K- Hr -X- * -Sf 

As to my country's calling for 7nij aid, you make me smile ! — yet, 
if such an improbable thing should ever come to pass, you will find 
that your lectures on patriotism have not been lost upon me. Alas !" ' 
poor country ! what is to become of it ? In the wisdom and virtue 
of the administration I have the most unbounded confidence. My 
apprehensions, therefore, have no reference to them, nor to any event 
very near at hand. And yet, can any man who looks upon the state 
of public virtue in this country, and then casts his eyes upon what is 
doing in Europe, believe that this confederated republic is to last for 
ever i* Can he doubt that its probable dissolution is less than a cen- 
tury off? Think of Burr's conspiracy, within thirty-five years of the 
birth of the republic ; — think of the characters implicated with him ; 
— think of the state of political parties and of the presses in this 
country; — think of the execrable falsehoods, virulent abuse, villanous .'. 
means by which they strive to carry their points. Will not the people "^ 
get tired and heart-sick of this perpetual commotion and agitation, and 
long for a change, even for king Log, so that they may get rid of 
their demagogues, the storks, that destroy their peace and quiet? 
These are my fears. Heaven grant that they may prove groundless ! 
It may be for the want of that political intrepidity which is essential 
to a statesman that these fears have found their way into my mind — 
yet I confess they do sometimes fill it with awe and dismay. I am 
sure that the body of the people is virtuous; and were they as 
enlightened as they are virtuous, I should think the republic insured 
against ruin from within. But they are not enlightened, and there- 
fore are liable to imposition from the more knowing, crafty and vicious 
emissaries of faction ; — and the very honesty of the people, by ren- 
dering them unsuspicious and credulous, promotes the cheat. They 
are told, for instance, that this administration is in French pay, or 
under French influence ; and that this country, although nominally 
free, is, in effect, a dependant and a province of France. That the 
taxes w^hich they pay to support their government, instead of being 
applied to these purposes, are remitted to their master in France, to 
enable him to complete the conquest of Europe, and hasten the time 
of his taking open possession here. The people who live amid the 
solitude and innocence of the country, who read or hear this tale well 
vamped up, and see general items pointed out, in the annual accounts 
of expenditure, which are declared to cover these traitorous remit- 
tances — what are they to think — especially when the tale is connected 
with a long train of circumstances, partly true and partly false, grow- 
ing out of the actual embarrassments of the country ? Would it be 
surprising, if, thus worked upon for four years, with the vile and 
. infamous slander sanctioned by assertions on the floor of Congress. 



248 INCREASING EMINENCE. [1810 

they should precipitate Mr. Madison from the Presidential seat, and 
place one of his calumniators in the chair of state ? And then, when 
"vice prevails and wicked men bear sway," "what ills may follow/' 
Heaven only can foretell. 

****** 
Yours, forever and aye, 

Wm. Wirt. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

1810. 

RESUMES THE PURPOSE OF WRITING THE BIOGRAPHY OP PATRICK 
HENRY. CONSULTS MR. JEFFERSON ON THIS SUBJECT. LET- 
TERS TO CARR. NEW ENGLAND ORATORY. THE SENTINEL. — 

LETTER TO B. EDWARDS. DEATH OF COLONEL GAMBLE. — THE 

OLD BACHELOR. — LETTERS CONCERNING IT. 

In the lives of professional men, there is generally but little inci- 
dent of that kind which is adapted to give interest to the narrative 
of the biographer. The pursuits of a student, whether in the field 
of professional science or of literature, present little for notice beyond 
the record of his acquirements and opinions. That engrossment of 
the mind, which constitutes the delight and profit of a life devoted to 
study, necessarily withdraws the student from an active participation 
in the affairs of his fellow-men ; and, to the same extent, deprives his 
career of that various fortune, of which the lights and shades com- 
municate so much interest to personal history. 

We have seen, in the progress of Mr. Wirt, a steadfast devotion to 
his profession, marked by a regular and continued advancement to 
eminence, — eminence which, it is apparent throughout his career, he 
was fully persuaded was only to be won by unremitting study. All 
other pursuits were subordinate to the great object of his ambition, a 
well-merited renown in his profession. In his estimates of this 
renown, and of the means by which it was to be fairly earned, he was 
guided by the example of those distinguished men who, in the history 



Chap. XVIII.] LEGAL EDUCATION. 249 

of the profession, both in ancient and modern times, had illustrated it 
by the highest accomplishments of general scholarship. The bar of 
the United States, by no means deficient in the highest order of 
ability, aifords but few instances of that accurate and full scholastic 
training, without which no man can be said to be entitled to the repu- 
tation of an accomplished jurist. Looking to the leading members 
of the profession amongst us, we have too much cause to remark that, 
with some rare and brilliant exceptions, there is a lamentable want 
of eonversancy with those subsidiary studies, which not only grace 
the reputation of an eminent lawyer, but are even indispensable to it. 
We discern, in men of the highest professional repute, a lack of scho- 
larship, a deficiency in philosophical and historical study, and a 
neglect of literature and science, which contrast most unpleasantly 
with their acknowledged vigour and capacity of mind. This defect 
may be sometimes traced to the want of the means and opportunity, 
in early life, for elemental study. Some distinguished men of the 
American bar have won their way to fame against the impediments 
of a straitened fortune, and in the privation of all the customary aids 
of study. In respect to these, it may be said that their want of 
accomplishment bears honourable testimony to the labours of their 
progress, and rather signalizes what they have achieved, than subjects 
them to reproof for what they have left unattained. The gi-eat 
majority of the most prominent members of the profession, however, 
have not this excuse. They are men, for the most part, of liberal 
education, trained in the college, with all the means and appliances at 
hand for the highest and most various cultivation. That they have 
not availed themselves of these means, we may attribute, in a great 
degree, to the fact that the community at large do not appreciate 
these acquirements sufficiently to allow them much weight in the 
formation of the popular opinion of professional excellence; that the 
sttidcnt is not stimulated to these additional labours by any public 
judgment of their worth, and that he need not, therefore, burden 
himself, in his preparation for his arduous race, with any additional 
weight of study. His dream is of popularity rather than of that 
fame which is to live beyond his own day. He covets the applause 
visibly bestowed in the listening forum, or more substantially mani- 
fested in the golden return, rather than that invisible, remote and 



250 CHARACTER OF HIS STUDIES. [I8IO.1 

impartial renown which settles, late and long^upon the works and the 
nicraory of the ripe and polished scholar. Sonicthiug is due also to 
other causes : amongst these, that rapid and precocious advance to 
large practice at the bar, of which we have so many examples. Thip 
early success, bringing with it profit and popular applause, is often 
the source of a double mischief; first, by satisfying the ambition of 
the aspirant; and, second, by persuading him that nothing is to be 
gained, in the enlargement of his studies, to compensate him for the: 
time it must subtract from his business. We may find another reason 
in the extraordinary predominance of that talent for public speaking, 
which is so remarkably characteristic of our people. The admiration i 
of the masses for this talent; the ready plaudit with which they, 
are often but too ready to reward that specious, fluent, superficial, 
glittering eloquence, with which they are most familiar, seem to 
have engendered the opinion that even the depths of juridical science 
may be fathomed by this plummet of the gift of speech, and the 
highest honours of professional distinction be won by the wordy tri- 
umphs of the forum. 

Wirt's aim was to build up his reputation upon a more solid base 
To this end, he read and thought much, in those departments of 
study, which not only liberalize the mind by broad and comprehensive 
views of human knowledge, but also supply it with the stores of illus- 
tration, analogy and comparison ; and, in equal degree, strengthen its 
power of discrimination and logical deduction. To this end, also, he 
habituated himself to the use of his pen, and almost incorporated the 
practice of writing into a system of self-improvement, as a point of 
daily discipline. 

In accordance with this plan of study, he had ever some literary 
project in hand, to which he gave a portion of his time. It was not, 
however, always that, in the pressure of his forensic engagements, he 
could gratify this purpose, without too large a sacrifice of immediate 
personal interest ; but we remark in his letters, how much this lite- 
rary scheme engrossed his thoughts, and beguiled the severer occupa- ' 
tions of his profession. 

The purpose of writing a biography of Patrick Henry, which, as 
v/e have heretofore remarked, had been contemplated, in eonnectioii 
with a work embracing a number of other distinguished men of Vir- 



t 



Chap. XVIII.] LETTER TO MR. JEFFERSON. 251 

ginia, was now resumed. In reference to this design, Wirt wi'ote the 
following letter to Mr. Jefferson : 

TO THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

Richmond, January 18, 1810. 
Dear Sir : 

About four years ago, you were so good as to state that if the Life 
of Henry was not destined to coine out very speedily, you would en- 
deavour to recollect what might be of service to it ; and that, having 
run your course with him for more than twenty years, and witnessed 
the part he bore in every great question, you would perhaps be able 
to recal some interesting anecdotes. 

I do not refer to your letter as constituting a promise, or giving 
me any manner of claim on you. I do not regard it in that light ; 
and have merely reminded you of it as an apology for the renewal of 
my request. In truth, so great is the inconsistency of the statements 
which I have received of his life and character, and so recent and 
warm the prejudices of his friends and his adversaries, that I had 
almost brought my mind to lay aside the project as one too ticklish 
for foithful execution at the present time. But every day, and es- 
pecially every meeting of the Legislature, convince me that the times 
require a little discipline, which cannot be rendered so interesting in 
a didactic form, as if interwoven with the biography of a celebrated 
man : and although I know very many much better qualified to give 
this discipline thau myself, I hear of no one who is disposed to do it. 
It is for this reason, only, that / am so disposed. 

]Mr. Henry seems to me a good text for a discourse on rhetoric, 
patriotism and morals. The work might be made useful to young 
men who are just coming forward into life : this is the highest point 
of my expectation ; nor do I deem the object a trifling one, since on 
these young men the care and safety of the republic must soon 
devolve. 

As for the prejudices for and against him, I shall endeavour to 
treat the subject with so much candour, as not justly to give offence 
to any one. I think this may be avoided without a sacrifice of truth. 
Of this, and consequently of the expediency of publishing at this 
time, I shall be better able to judge when the work is finished; 
which, I hope, it will be this summer, unless the ill health of my 
family should again send me a travelling. 

I should feel myself very much indebted to you, if, during the 
leisure which I hope you are now enjoying, you could make it matter 
of amusement to yourself (I would not wish it otherwise,) to throw 
together, for my use, such incidents touching Mr. Henry as may 
occur to you. 

I never heard nor saw Mr. Henry, and am, therefore, anxious to 



252 LETTER TO CARR. [1810. 

have a distinct view of the peculiarities of his character as a man, a 
jjolitician, and an orator; and particuhirly of the grounds and points 
of his excellence in the latter aspect. 

It would very much animate and enrich the biography to add to it 
a striking portrait of the characters of the eminent men with whom 
he acted. I am the more especially anxious for a portrait of Richard 
H. Lee, because I understand that he was the great rival of Mr. 
Henry in eloquence. I have heard the late Governor Page say that 
he was the superior. 

Will this not be adding too much to the trouble which I am already 
seeking to give you ? But I beg you to feel no difficulty in disposing: 
of the whole request as it may suit your convenience. 

If, instead of being an amusement, you think it would be trouble-^ 
some to you, I should be much more sensibly obliged to you to 
decline it altogether than to encounter the trouble : since, with every 
wish for the peace and enjoyment of your future life, 

I am, dear sir, 

Your obedient servant, 

Wm. Wirt. 

The expectation of completing this Life of Patrick Henry in the 
course of the year in which this letter was written was not fultilled. 
The work referred to, was not given to the public until several years 
afterwards. 

Wirt had projected a visit with Dabney Carr and some other friends, 
to Washington, during the session of Congress, "to see the lions" 
there, and amuse themselves by an intercourse with the magnates of 
the nation. He was, however, obliged to forego this frolic, — as it 
was meant to be, — and to remain at home, with an eye to his busi- 
ness, which was now rapidly increasing, very much to the benefit of ' 
his purse, though not in the same degree to the promotion of his 
comfort. In reference to this trip, he writes the following letter : 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, January 19, 1810. 
Yours of the 9tli, my dear friend, reached me last night. It is 
undoubtedly an eloquent letter, for it put me exactly in the state of 
the twelve signs of the zodiac that surround the pedestal of the sleep- 
ing Venus, at Monticello ; it was a smile and a tear, from beginning 
to end ; which is better proof of the merit of the letter than if it fitted 
Aristotle's square in every part. 



Chap. XVIIL] OPINION OF NEW ENGLAND ORATORY. 253 

It is in vain to sigh about it ; go I cannot. In ten days more, 
begins our Court of Chancery ; and then I have no rest (not for a 
day,) till August. My scheme of winter's prejDaration has been a 
good deal unhinged by a spell of sickness, from which I am just re- 
covering; but I shall not suffer the vacation to pass entirely without 
profit. 

This, I suppose, will find you in Washington. I wish you may 
meet with all the enjoyment you anticipated. John Randolpli has 
not gone on; and to hear him speak was the prlinum mobile of 
Peter's project and mine. I am very anxious to hear John Randolph • 
they tell me that he is an orator, and I am curious to hear one ; for 
I never yet heard a man who answered the idea I have formed of an 
orator. 

He has ever been ambitious, and I do not doubt that from the time 
he was seventeen years old, he has been training himself, most assi- 
duously, for public speaking. He has formed himself, I fancy, on the 
model of Chatham ; but the vigour of Chatham's mind, and that god- 
like fire which breathed from him, were not to be imitated. 

By-the-bye, I think this businet^s of imitation always a badge of 
inferiority of genius; most frequently an injudicious business, too — 
since the imitation has generally little other effect than to remind the 
hearer or reader of the superiority of the original. 

:); ;■; ^ ^ :J; ^ 

God bless you forever and ever, 

Wm. Wirt. 

Our New England friends will smile at the account given of their 
orator}', in the following extract from another letter to Carr, written, 
I have reason to suppose, — for it is without date, — soon after the last, 
and whilst Carr was in Washington. I need not say, that the esti- 
mate here made of New England eloquence and character, was rather 
an echo of the absurd prejudices then current in the South, than any 
deliberate opinion of Wirt's own. We shall find hereafter, that no 
man was either more able or more willing to do full justice to the 
many virtues of our NoTthern brethren than he. In the mean time, 
this sketch of them may be noticed to show to what a different point 
of the compass the opinion of forty years ago turned, upon the topic 
of this letter, from what it does now. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

****** 
" I fear you will find but little amusement in the formal cant of 
the New Englanders. I never heard one of them ; but I suspect that 

I Vol. I.— 22 



251 THE SENTINEL. [1810. 

Callender Las, at least, coloured the picture of the national manner 
high enough when, iu drawing Dexter he says, ' 31r. Dexter has a 
great deal of that kind of eloquence which struts around the heart 
without ever entering it.' 

" The impression which I have received of them is, that they are 
trained, like the disputants in the old schools of logic, to he equally 
ready for every subject : that they can speak on any one with equal 
volubility; — but that there is no more variation of feeling, nor con- 
sequently of expression in them, than in the brazen mask which 
covered the face of the actor in Rome." 

* -x- -x- -Sfr ^ 

^Yitli all Wirt's disinclination to embarrass himself with the duties lE 
of public station, he was ever ready to enter the field of political con- 
test in defence of his friends or the party to which he was attached. 
To both of these, he had, more than once, rendered most effective 
service, and this was acknowledged by the public in the popular appro- 
bation which he heard expressed from all quarters, and especially 
from the distinguished men in whose behalf he had laboured. He 
had, as we have seen, been one of the first to reprove that attempt to > 
produce a schism in the republican party which, in the then recent 
presidential contest, had divided the friends of Mr. Madison and Mr. 
Monroe; and the letters of " One of the People," had a very exten- 
sive circulation through the State. The authorship of those letters, 
although not confessed to the world, was every where well known, 
and gave to the writer a conspicuous position in his party. 

An occasion was presented, during this summer, to bring him once : 
more before the public. Mr. Madison's administration was assailed 1 
with great asperity. Some of the protestors of 1808 were in open 
war against it, and political hate had lost none of its harshness, noi 
its industry in the tactics of assault. To breast this opposing force | 
of querulous denunciation of Mr. Madison and his friends, Wirt pub- \ 
lishcd a few essays with the title of " The Sentinel." These papers \ 
were written in a different style from his former political compositions ; ;! 
were more free of that ambitious declamation which may be noticed l| 
in some portions of the letters of One of the People. His object iu 
this change of style was to mislead the public as to the author ; but 
the public, accustomed to the fl:avour of his pen, were not deceived 
hy the assumed disguise, and he became as well known for these essays i 



k 



Chaf. XVIII.] LETTER TO EDWARDS. 255 

as for the former. " I hope I shall be prudent some time or other," 
i he says in a letter to Can*, " though I sometimes doubt whether my 
scribbling so much in the papers is an evidence of it. I suppose I 
am to subject myself to some personal reflections in the press for the 
portrait of Randolph. I should have no objection to being treated 
as candidly as he has been ; but when they lay hold of me, they maul 
me in a different style. But as Bullock^s countryman said, about 
being called ' Billy' before the Governor, ' I didn't care for thai ." " 

We have, in the letters of Wirt, occasional reflections uj^on his own 
career, which are particularly adapted to the instruction of the young. 
He seems to have been moved, at many periods of his life, to record 
in his letters the results of his experience in the difficulties he had 
encountered, with some conviction that he owed it to the rising gene- 
ration to warn and guard them against the dangers which that expe- 
rience had taught him were so greatl}'^ to be dreaded. These frequent 
passages in his letters, as well as the general scope and aim of his 
literary compositions, may be said to present him somewhat con- 
spicuously in the character of the Friend and Instructor of youth, a 
title which I am happy to find, has been more than once recognized 
by the young men of the United States, in the formation of societies 
bearing his name, and whose pursuits are directed to the course pre- 
scribed by his inculcations. A few extracts from a letter to Mr. 
Edwards, at the period to which our narrative has arrived, will be 
read as an illustration of these remarks. 

TO BENJAMIN EDWARDS. 

Richmond, May 8, 1810. 

Mv DEAR AND REVERED FrIEND : 

I have, indeed, great cause of gratitude to Heaven. I will not say 
that Providence has led me, but that, in spite of the reluctant and 
rebellious propensities of my nature, it has dragged me from obscurity 
and vice, to respectability and earthly happiness. 

In reviewing the short course of my life, I can see where I made 
plunges from which it seems clearly to me that nothing less than a 
divine hand could ever have raised me ; but I have been raised, and 
I trust that my feet are now upon a rock. Yet can I never cease to 
deplore the years of my youth, that I have murdered in idleness and 
folly. I can only fancy, with a sigh of unwilling regret, the figure 
which I might have made, had I devoted to study those hours which 



256 REVIEW OF THE PAST. [1810. 

I gave up to giddy dissipatiQn, and which now cannot be recalled. I 
have read enough to show me, dimly and at a distance, the great out- 
line of that scheme of literary conquest, which it was once in my power ■ 
to fill up in detail. I have got to the foot of the mountain, and see 
the road which passes over its summit, and leads to the promised land ; 
but it is too late in life for me. I must be content to lay my bones 
on the hither side, and point out the path to my son. Do not charge 
these sentiments either to a weak and spiritless despondency or to 
sluggish indolence. I know that a good deal may yet be done, and I 
mean, as far as I can, that it shall be done ; yet, comparatively, it will 
be but a drop in the bucket. Seven-and-thirty is rather too late for a 
man to begin his education ; more especially when he is hampered by 
the duties of a profession, and in this age of the world, when every 
science covers so much ground by itself. "What a spur should this 
reflection be to young men ! Yet there is scarcely one iu ten thou- 
sand of them, who will understand or believe it, until, as in my case, 
it comes home to the heart, when it is too late. I now think that I 
know all the flaws and weak places of my mind. I know which of 
the muscles want tone and vigom-, and which are braced beyond the 
point of health. I also think I know what course of early training 
would have brought them all to perform their proper functions in har- 
monious concert. But now the character of my mind is iixud ; and 
as to any beneficial change, one might as well call upon* a tailor, who 
has sat upon his shop-board until the calves of his legs are shrivelled, 
to carry the burthens of a porter ; or upon a man whose hand is vio- 
lently shaken with the palsy, to split hairs with a razor. Such as it 
is, it will probably remain, with a little accession, perhaps, of know- 
ledge. You will do me injustice if you infer, from what I have said, 
that I am sighing with regret at those distant heights of political ho- 
nours which lie beyond my reach. I do not know whether to consider 
it as a vice or virtue of my nature, — but so far am I from sighing for 
political honours, that I pant only for seclusion and tranquillity, in 
which I may enjoy the sweets of domestic and social love ; raise my 
faculties, by assiduous cultivation, to thcic highest attainable point, 
and prepare for that state of future existence to which I know that I 
am hastening. Nor should I propose to myself, in such solitude, to 
forget what I owe to my country : on the contrary, I think I could be 
much more solidly useful, in that situation, than in one more public 
and active. So strongly are my hopes and wishes fixed on this life 
of sequestration and peace, that if you ever hear of my having entered 
on a political course, you may rely upon it that it is a paiuful and 
heart-rending sacrifice to a sense of public duty. I hope and trust 
that such an emergency is scarcely possible. I am sure that it is very 
improbable; because I believe there will always be those who are 
much better qualified for public ofiices, and certainly far more anxious 
for them than I am. At the same time, I think our country is, at 



Chap. XVIIL] DEFECTS OF EDUCATION. 257 

present, very badly supplied with materials for future legislation and 
government. I cast my eyes over the continent, in vain, in quest of 
successors to our present patriots. There seems to me a most mise- 
rable and alarming dearth of talents and acquirements among the 
young men of the U. S. I have sometimes sat down and endeavoured 
to fill the various offices in the government with characters drawn from 
those who are made known to us, either personally or by fame. But 
so far am I from finding among them a man fit for a president, that 1 
cannot even find persons fit for th,e heads of departments. What has 
become of the talents of the coimtry? Are they utterly extinct? Or 
do they merely slumber ; and does it require another great convulsion, 
like our revolutionary war, to rouse their dormant energies ? I my- 
self think that it proceeds, in a very great degree, if not altogether, 
from defective education. Ovir teachers themselves either want learn- 
ing, or they want the address necessary to excite into vigorous action 
the powers of the mind. Young men are everywhere tui-ned loose, in 
the various professions, with minds half awake, and their surface 
merely a little disturbed with science. This is not the way great men 
have been made, either in Europe or America. As long as this 
system is pursued, we shall never have any thing but political 
quacks. 

* * * * * * * 

You will rio doubt have seen, in the public papers, the loss we have 
suffered in the premature death of my wife's father. Col. Robert Gam- 
ble. In the full enjoyment of health and strength, of uncommon 
mental and corporeal vigour, in the active and prosperous pursuit of 
his business, his children all established, surrounded by his grand- 
children and an extensive circle of sincere and fervent friends, and 
with the fairest prospects of earthly happiness opening around him on 
every hand, he was suddenly killed, on the morning of the 12th in- 
stant, by a fall from his horse. He was a faithful soldier of the revo- 
lution, a sincere and zealous Christian, one of the best of fathers, and 
honestest of men. 

******* 

Yours, 

Wm. Wirt. , 

The last portion of this letter refers to an event which deprived the 
society of Richmond of one of its best members. Colonel Gramble 
had served with credit, during the revolutionary war, and engaging in 
commerce soon after its termination, had amassed, as we have hereto- 
fore had occasion to remark, a considerable fortune in Richmond, 
where he lived, honom-ed and beloved by all who knew him, illustrat- 
22* 



258 LETTER TO CARR. [1810. 

ing the benevolence of bis character, by many acts of kindness and 
charity to those around him.* 

The succeeding letters will show that the occupations of the courts, 
to which some amusing reference is made, had not blunted the edge 
of the writer's literary appetite, nor entirely deprived him of the lei- 
sure necessary for its indulgence. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, September 9, 1810. 
My Dear Friend : 

I received, in regular course of mail, your favour of the 27th ulti- 
mo. Briggs' is really a hard case ; and I v/ill endeavom*, although 
it will be irregular, to introduce the Court of Appeals to a more inti- 
mate knowledge of it than the records will furnish. 

■X- * -K- * -x- * 

My ink was rather too thick to write with pleasure, so I have thinned 
it, and mended my pen ; — and now, sir, here 's at you ! 

Why, yes, sir, as you say, it is a pleasant thing to lead the life of a 
county court lawyer ; but yet (as one of Congreve's wittol squires said, 
when his guardian bully suifered himself to be kicked, and called it 
pleasant) " it is a pleasure I would as soon be without." Yet I doubt 
not that your sum of happiness is as great, if not greater, than if you 
were a "general com't lawyer," as the phrase used to be. 

• He was born in the neighbourhood of Staunton, where his father, an 
emigrant from Scotland, possessed a good landed estate. At the brealcing 
out of the war, he entered the service as a subaltern officer, having just 
married a Miss Grattan, who had, at an early age, come with her parents 
from Ireland, being remotely connected with the family of the distinguished 
leader of the Irish Parliament of the same name. Col. Gamble served until 
the j)eace, and then establislied himself as a merchant in Staunton, whence 
he removed to Richmond. Here he lived in the enjoyment of an elegant 
hospitality, and in intimate association with tliat circle which was made up 
of Chief Justice Marsliall and liis contemporaries. He was in the habit of 
riding every morning to his counting-room, from his residence on Gamble's 
Hill, as it is yet called in Richmon<l. He thus met his death. April r2tli, 
ISIO, he was riding at a leisurely pace down one of the streets, near the 
river, reading a newspaper, and giving but little attention to his horse. 
It lja[)pened that some buffalo-skins were thrown from the upper story of 
a warehouse, as he was passing it; his liorse took fright, started and threw 
him, which produced concussion of the brain, and terminate<l his life in a 
few hours. He was then in his fifty-sixth year. He left behind him two 
sons, who now are both living in Florida, gentlemen deservedly esteemed 
for tlieir personal worth, and two daughters, with whose history the reader 
is already pa^'ially acquainted. 






Chap. XVIII.] LABOURS OF THE LAWYER. 259 

Those same returns that you speak of — ]My God ! does not a man, 
at such times, live as much in a minute as, in ordinary times, he does 
in an hour or a day? These are the breezes of which poets and ora- 
tors sing, and say that they shake the atmosphere of life, and keep it 
from stagnation and pestilence. I know that your life would be in 
no danger of stagnation or pestilence, even if you were to live forever 
at home : yet I imagine that there is no man, however happy in the) 
circle of his femily, who does not find himself made more conscious of 
that happiness, and his feelings of enjoyment quickened, by these oc- 
casional separations. This is the way in which I reconcile myself to 
them ; since, although not a county court lawyer at this present, I am 
doomed to these separations as well as you. 

As to the labour and fatigue which you undergo, — look at the 
health which you derive from it, and the consequent clearness of brain, 
and capacity for happiness. Besides, mark the majestic obesity which, 
you exhibit, in spite of all your exercise ; and consider " what a thing 
you would be, if you were bloated," as FalstaiF says, by inactivity. 

When I think of the mountain seeneiy, the fine air, the society of 
nature, in Albemarle, I am convinced that nothing less than my being 
doomed, by my nativity, to the life of a wandering Arab, would have 
rolled me through Richmond, to Williamsburg, to Norfolk, and back 
here again. Even now, I can scarcely persuade myself that I am sta- 
tionary, and .should not be at all surprised, ten or fifteen years hence, 
(if I live so long,) to find myself in some valley, among the mountains 
of Pennsylvania. 

But, to return to the life of a county court lawyer. — (" Sir," say 
you, ''you ought not to wish to return to it." — I hate a pun: so, 
Allans!) — What I object to it for, is the very thing I ought most to 
covet, the corporeal labour to which it subjects one, (not meaning of 
a pun, of course — Curse these interlineations ! how they puzzle one ! 
— but the life of a county court lawyer;) for, as to the fatigue of the 
mind, I do suppose that we are much more oppressed than you are. 
Our courts, for example, have now begun, and we have no more inter- 
mission from labour, not even during the Sabbath, until about Christ- 
mas. The few last days of December, and the month of January, 
belong to us ; and then, from the first of February to the first of July, 
we are slaves again. Even the intervals between these sessions, if we 
were wise, ought to be devoted to preparation for the ensuing cam- 
paign ; so that it is literally by playing the truant, that we have a day 
of rest from our labours. 

Now, sir, think of this, and remember that it is on me you would 
pack the labours of "the Sylph," because you are too busy. 

I much fear the Sylph is doomed never to see the light. Profes- 
sional labours thicken around me this fall, and it will require the most 
intense application on my part, to keep pace even with the progress 
of my little name. This prospect does not cheer me. I feel as if tho 



260 ANCIENT AND MODERN ORATORY. [1810. 

waves were closing over my head, and cutting me off from all that 
delights me. To be buried in law for eight or ten years, without the 
power of opening a book of taste for a single day! "0 horrible! 
horrible ! most horrible I" for that wealth that would enable me 
to wander at large through the fields of general literatui'e, as whim or 
feeling might direct, for days and weeks and months together, and 
thus to raise, enlighten, and refine my mind and heart, until I became 
a fit inhabitant for those brighter fields of light that lie above us ! 

Do you think that a fellow, after wrangling and crangling (as 
Daniel Call says) for twenty or thirty years on this earth, is fit to go 
to heaven ? Don't you think he would be perpetually disturbing the 
inhabitants by putting cases of law, and that he would be miserable 
for the want of a dispute ? If so, well may it be said, " Wo unto you, 
ye lawyers!" — The which "wo" I think it might be wise in us to 
interpret quadrupedantically, and cease from our wicked labours. But 
what can we do ? ''Ay ! — there 's the rub that makes calamity of so 
long life ; that makes us rather bear the ills we have, than fiy to others 
that we know not of." But more of this anon. For the present, with 
love to Mrs. C. and your children, not forgetting Frank, adieu. I am 
alone, — my wife is gone back to Cabell's, — but, nevertheless, 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, December 17, 1810. 
My dear Friend : 

A bill introduced by Blackburn to increase the number of Judges 
in the Court of Appeals has been made the order of this day. 

This measure, I apprehend, is too important to be disposed of im- 
mediately ; but I consider it as the harbinger of all the gi'cat measures 
of the session, and the signal for debate. I would recommend it to 
you, therefore, to be here in the course of this week, or at all events, 
by Sunday. 

I am told that, in point of abilities, we have a better House now 
than we have had for several years. Those who make it so must, 
however, be all young men, except Colonel Monroe ; and of the young 
men our system of education is too defective to expect much. How 
little does it resemble a Roman senate ! 

Can you conceive any pleasure superior to the enjoyment of hear- 
ing a debate, on a great public measure, conducted by such men as 
Cicero, Cato, Caesar, and their compeers ; — that pleasure which Sallust 
so often tasted, and of which he has left us such brilliant specimens ? 
What stores of knowledge had those men; what funds of argument, 
illustration and ornament; what powers of persuasion, what force of 
reason, wha: striking and impressive action, what articulate and melo- 



Chap. XVIII.] LETTERS TO CARR. 261 

dious elocution ! — ^yet eacli speaker marked with a character of his 
owu, which distinguished him from all the world, — the sportive 
amenity of Cicero, the god-like dignity of Cato. 

How interesting must it have been to listen to Julius Caesar, and 
watch the sly operations of that ambition which he must have curbed 
with so much difficulty ! I think it is Plutarch who tells us that 
Cicero said of Caesar, "that when he saw him adjusting his locks with 
so much care, he could not help regarding him with some degree of 
contempt, as a fop and a trifler; but when he heard him speak, he 
trembled for his country!" or something to this effect. 

But, without going back to Rome, how little does any House that 
we have had for some years past resemble the House in which Jeffer- 
son, Pendleton, Henry, Richard H. Lee, "Wythe, Bland and others 
were members ; or the Convention which ratified the Constitution ; or 
the Assembly of '99-1800, in which Madison, Giles, John Taylor 
of Caroline, Brent, Swann, Tazewell and Taylor of Norfolk were 
members ! ' _ 

Yet, without any extraordinary prejudice in favour of antiquity, I 
apprehend that we have never yet, by any of our Houses, matched a 
Roman senate as a whole. The system of education at Rome seems 
to have been such a one as to turn out everi/ young man accomplished, 
at all points, for the service of his country. And when a young man 
was emulous of any thing extraordinary, he visited and received the 
instructions of every foreign school distinguished for science or elo- 
quence, — as we see in the example of Cicero, — and thus extracted 
and mingled the sweets of every exotic and indigenous flower. 

When will our young men ever take these pains ? For I persuade 
myself that nothing is necessary but a general exertion, " a heave 
together," aided by a judicious course of education, to make the people 
of this country equal to any in the world, ancient or modern. 

In the few instances of eminent exertion which have occurred, a 
weight of mind has been attained which has rarely, if ever, been sur- 
passed ; that is to say, the exertion has produced the effect which was 
aimed at — knowledge, strength, discrimination ; but this exertion has 
never been pointed with such success at the art of public debating, as 
to bring us near old Rome. 

I see, in the last number of Rees' Cyclopcedia, a remark extracted 
from Thilwall's Lectures on Elocution, which seems to me very just : 
he says that our inferiority to the ancient orators consists not in the 
substance of what we say, but in the manner of it — that is, in elocu- 
tion, which includes every thing that relates to the delivery, more 
particularly the articulation and intonations of the voice, together 
with the time, as musicians call it. 

To this purpose, what engines were the public schools of eloquence 
among the Romans, and still more, perhaps, the extemporaneous lec- 
tures of the travelling philosophers from Greece ! What whetstones 



262 LETTERS TO CARR. [1810. 

to the emulation of young men, the splendid examples of rhetoric 
which those philosophers were every day exhibiting, and the raptiu-es 
of applause with -which they were heard ! Compared with such incen- 
tives as these, how dull and low is every thing we see in this country ! 
— a jig iTpon the banjo of an ash-covered negro, compared v/ith an 
anthem on Handel's organ ! 

I am still of the opinion that an extemporaneous lecturer, well fitted 
for the office, might perform wonders for the young men of this coun- 
try. What might not Ogilvie have done, if his enthusiasm had been 
backed by the genius and mellifluous eloquence of Plato ! 

It is true that experimental philosophy and revelation have taken 
away the themes of the Roman and Grecian philosophers, in a very 
great degree ; but themes enough still remain in physics, ethics, poli- 
tics, &c. Think of such a man as Parson Waddell, the master of a 
school of eloquence ! 

Here I am betrayed into an essay, when I only sat down to an- 
nounce to you that I thought it was time for you to come hither. It 
is well enough, however, to keep down your expectations, and prevent 
such another disappointment as you experienced last winter at Wash- 
ington. 

Some years ago, Ritchie drew a character of Tazewell, in which 
he accounted for the deficiency of the State Legislature, by saying 
that all our talents had gone into Congress. What would he be able 
to tell an observer, now, who should travel with him from Richmond 
to Washington, so as to see both Houses ? But enough of this. 

We shall look for you about Friday, and thenceforward till we see 
you. 

I expect Peachy also ; and Billy Pope is to be in town at the same 
time. He is full of anticipation. 

Remember us affectionately to Mrs. C. ; and give my love to your 
brothers. 

Wm. Wirt. 



My dear Friend : 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, December 24, 1810. 



Your two favours of the 18th and 20th were brought me yesterday 
morning, while at breakfast. And although the intelligence that we 
were not to see you till the 10th January was a drawback, to which 
I am not yet reconciled, I read both your letters, but especially the 
last, with unusual j^leasure. 

-X- -x- -x- * * * 

I shall immediately announce your day, both to Pope and Peachy. 
The author of the essays on the United States Bank, is a very inti- 
mate friend of mine, and one who is very strongly disposed, and 



Chap. XVIII.] PROJECT OF THE OLD BACHELOR. 263 

anxious to be equally intimate with you. It is Richard E. Parker, 

the Judge's grandson, a captain of horse in our loginn, — infandum 
renovare dolorem! — and a nephew of the Colonel Parker who fell at 
Charleston. 

He is a fine fellow, although there is nothing in him very striking 
to a stranger. As a member of the House, he was not popular. He 
spoke his mind, on all occasions, without reserve, and was constantly 
treading on somebody's corns. He wanted experience, to give him 
the allowable policy and insinuation of a popular speaker. But I 
think his pen promises to be a very fine one. He is studious, emu- 
lous, and is already, I think, a versatile and graceful writer. 

* * * :^ jf: >ic * 

He was with nie the other evening, and I imparted to him our 
project of a series of moral and literary essays, with which he was 
delighted, and agreed to contribute, provided I would sit at the helm, 
to preserve the unity of course and character, and expunge, alter or 
reject, any thing he should send which did not meet my approbation ; 
a circumstance which I mention as marking his modesty and discre- 
tion, and as giving you my pledge, (since you do not so well know 
him,) that your co-responsibility with me will not be increased by 
such an auxiliary. 

I mentioned to him, that you and Frank would contribute, and he 
is very anxious to know you both. I will endeavour to have him in 
llichmond when you come down ; for, at present, he has gone home 
to Westmoreland, enraptured with the scheme, and has promised that 
I shall soon hear from him. 

liefore he went, we agreed, for the reasons which I believe I sug- 
gested to you, — the too palpable fiction, want of community of cha- 
racter and interests, and unmanageability, — that the Sylph would net 
do. So I have hit upon another, the Old Bachelor, of which you 
will see two numbers, by the same mail which carries this. 

I like the plan myself, much. It gives scope for all sorts of com- 
position ; and, I think, the adopted children of the Old Bachelor will 
enable us to interweave somethiuo; of a dramatic interest with the 



work. 



o 



I shall assign the young doctor to Frank, and the young lawyer 
to Parker. You and I will manage the Old Bachelor and the Niece. 
How do you like it, and the beginning numbers ? 

I wish you to bring down the Sylph with you, and Frank's essay 
upon Doctor Rush's opinion about the inferiority of women, in the 
form of a letter, addressed to his Uncle the old Bachelor, the key- 
note of which he will see in the third number. It need not have the 
air of being intended for publication, but of being a letter written to 
his uncle in the ordinary course of correspondence. 



264 THE OLD BACHELOR. [1810. 

Your story of Polemo and Xenocrates, aiiected me almost to tears ; 
but they were tears of pleasure. You tell it exquisitely, and beat 
botli Boyle and Valerius Maximus, the original reporter of the story, 
out of sight. I shall have it in the Old Bachelor. It -will make a 
brilliant catastrophe to an essay on temperance. 

I am now going to take a liberty which nothing but our old and 
fraternal friendship could justify. You have powers, of which you 
do not seem conscious ; powers which require but a little exertion, on 
your part, to unfold them to the public eye, in the van of the distin- 
guished men on the continent. If you would devote your hours of 
rest from your profession, to science and literature on a bold scale, 
and practise your pen in composition, you would soon burst from the 
shell of your district, and take the station for which nature designed you. 

Neither Voltaire nor Marmontel ever told a story better than your 
Polemo. I mention them, because I think your pen bears a striking 
resemblance to their ease, volubility, and sprightliness. 

! how would it greet my soul, to lay hold of your arm, and travel 
with you up the steep, to that same Temple with the female trumpeter 
on its summit, with wings expanded and on the last tip-toe of flight, 
to speed her news. 

You know me too well, to believe these remarks (complimentary, 
or as fishing for compliments to myself. They are from my inmost 
soul, and proceed from an earnest desire to have you all that nature 
has formed you capable of being. I think you owe it, too, to the me- 
mory of the man whose name you bear ; and who, if he had lived to 
the ordinary stage of life, would not have consented to expire in a 
corner, in obscurity, and leave no trace of that name on the rolls of 
Fame. 

When I first knew you about fourteen or fifteen years ago, you felt 
as you ought to do on this subject. But I fear that Louisa and Flu- 
vanna have almost extinguished the generous spark. Let us see if 
we cannot rekindle it in the Old Bachelor. I am, myself, determined, 
at least, to spare no exertion for the improvements of the mind, which 
I have too long wanted. It is late, indeed, to begin ; but both Scaliger 
and Hobbes studied mathematics after forty. That is some consola- 
tion. ! for such a fortune as would give me all my time to spend 
as I please ! But, since this is vain, let us do the best we can, and 
let us endeavour to stimulate our countrymen to surpass us. 

The man who could rouse this nation from the indolence and 
lethargy of peace, and spur them on to put forth all then- powers, 
would deserve a place in the bulletin of to-morrow. 

Tell me that you do not take these personalities amiss, and tell me 
that you take me at my word. 

* * * * ^fr * 

Our love to you all 

Wm, Wirt. 



CHAPTER XTX. 
1811. 

THE OLD BACHELOR. CONTRIBUTORS TO IT. CHARACTER OP THE 

WORK. AMUSING CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN WIRT AND CARR 

IN REFERENCE TO IT. CARR's PROMOTION TO THE BENCH. THE 

POST OF ATTORNEY-GENERAL VACANT. — WIRT SPOKEN OF. — HIS 

THOUGHTS UPON IT. — LETTER TO HIS DAUGHTER. EMPLOYED 

BY MR. JEFFERSON IN THE BATTURE CASE. — CORRESPONDENCE 
WITH MR. J. IN REFERENCE TO DUANE. — MR, MADISON AND MR. 
GALLATIN. 

The letters given in the last chapter, have reference to the publi- 
cation of ''The Old Bachelor." The essays, under this title, were 
commenced in November, 1810, and were continued during the 
gi'eater part of the succeeding year. We have had frequent occasion 
to notice the strong inclination of Wirt's mind for literary enterprise. 
The hope of achieving something honourable to himself in this way, 
his letters show us, was the prevailing fancy of his meditations, and 
his pleasantest dream of the future. Exercise in literary composition, 
we have remarked also, was a prominent observance in his scheme of 
self-discipline and study. The Rainbow, which, the reader may re- 
member, had employed his leisure a few years ago, was more recently 
succeeded by an enterprise of the same kind, — the publication of 
some essays, under the title of ''The Sylph," of which but a few 
numbers had seen the light, before they were abandoned for the bet- 
ter-considered and more mature scheme of the Old Bachelor. The 
Old Bachelor reached thirty -three numbers. It is a series of didactic 
and ethical essays, put together somewhat after the model of the Spec- 
tator, and other works of that class, which once obtained such attrac- 
tive popularity in English literature. It is not too much to say of 
these essays, that they may be compared, without disparagement, with 
the best of those of Addison and Steele. The Old Bachelor was 
originally published in the Enquirer. These papers were afterwards 

Vol. I. — 23 (ae.v, 



266 THE OLD BACHELOR. [1811. 

collected in two volumes, in wliicli shape they reached a third edition, 
and are now eminently desoi'ving of repuhlication, as a most instruc- 
tive and agreeable production of American literature. 

In this enterprise, Wirt was assisted by several gentlemen of Yir- 
giuia, amongst whom ho seems to have turned, with the surest expec 
tation of valuable aid, to his friend and comrade, Carr. 

In the dramatis personae of the Old Bachelor, the chief part is 
borne by Dr. Cecil, which was sustained, exclusively, by the pen of 
Wirt, himself, and engrosses much the largest share of these volumes. 
A letter from Scjuaretocs, in the ninth number, I believe, is all that 
was contributed by Carr. Galen and Alfred were consigned to two 
young friends. Dr. Frank Carr, of Albemarle, and Richard E. Parker, 
a gentleman, who was subsequently a member of the Senate of the 
United States. Melmotli was furnished by Dr. Girardin, of Eich- 
mond, the author of a valuable history of Virginia. There were 
some other contributions supplied by Judge Tucker, David Watson, 
of Louisa., and Mr. George Tucker, who has, since that period, at- 
tained to high distinction, as a professor of moral philosophy in the 
University of Virginia, and as the author of the biography of IMr. 
Jefferson and other works of approved value, which have brought him 
to the acquaintance and esteem of a large number of readers through- 
out the Union. There may have been other contributors to the Old 
Bachelor, whose names have escaped me. 

Without underrating the papers which have been supplied by the 
coadjutors in the enterprise, we may say of those from the pen of 
Wirt, that they give the jmncipal attraction to the book. Tliey are, 
imdoubtedly, the best of all his literary compositions; and, in the 
perusal of them we are constantly led to repeat our regrets, that one 
so endowed with the most valuable and, at the same time, pleasant 
gifts of authorship, had not been favoured by fortune, with more 
leisure and opportunity for the cultivation and employment of a talent 
so auspicious to his own fame, and so well adapted to benefit his 
country. 

We have remarked of Wirt that his life is peculiarly fraught with 
materials for the edification of youth. His career is full of whole- 
some teaching to the young votary who strives for the renown of an 
honourable ambition. Its difficulties and impediments, its tempta- 



Chap. XIX.] THE OLD BACHELOR. 267 

tions and trials, its triumphs over many obstacles, its rewards, both in 
th'j self-approving judgment of his own heart, and in the success won 
by patient labour and well-directed study ; and the final consumma- 
tion of his hopes, in an old age not less adorned by the applause of 
good men, than by the serene and cheerful temper inspired by a 
devout Christian faith ; — all these present a type of human progress 
worthy of the imitation of the young and gifted, in which they may 
find the most powerful incentives towards the accomplishment of the 
lioblest ends of a generous love of fame." 

We may discern in every studied literary effort of his a strong 
inclination to address himself more to the rising; frencration than to 
that which is passing away. His letters are full of this purpose. 
His many visions of future case and enjoyment all seem to derive 
their attraction from the contemplation of the good he might confer 
in directing the education and pursuits of ingenuous and talented 
youth. The Old Bachelor is emphatically the realization of some 
such hope, long vaguely entertained, but now furnished with the 
means and occasion for utterance. It is a 2:)recious book for the 
young American reader : it deals in topics to excite his national pride 
and emulation : it points out his road to duty and renown with a deli- 
cate and discriminating skill ; and beguiles him to the cultivation of 
the severest virtues, with a charm so potent as almost to convert the 
rugged and laborious track of discipline into a "primrose path of 
dalliance." 

These essays have a peculiar merit from being the rapid and simple 
effusions of the mind of the author, thrown off with unaffected negli- 
gence, and frequently even without revision. They seem to have 
been, often, the unstudied suggestions of moments snatched from pro- 
fessional duty, and to have been committed to the press whilst yet 
glowing with the first ardour of composition. Occasionally we have 
an essay of the highest finish, and full of the impassioned eloquence 
[ of the writer ; but we recognize, in the greater part of these papers, 
the reflex of a mind delighted with its task as a pastime, and flinging 
: aoroad its thoughts, like the involuntary transpirations of a healthy 
ibody, without a consciousness of effort or labour. Wirt's style has 
often been reproved, by judicious critics, for its j^rofusion of ornament 
and too gorgeous display of rhetorical costume. His imagination has 



208 THE OLD BACHELOR. [ISH. 

been charged with too often taking the reins from his judgment. 
The ardour of his temperament, we must admit, not unfrequently has 
infused into his writings a glow which might be reduced in tone 
without impairing the strength of his style, — indeed, even adding to 
its vigour, and imparting to it a more classic severity. But the reader 
of the Old Bachelor will find these essays less open to that objection 
than, perhaps, any other of Wirt's compositions. They seem to be 
all the better for the unstudied haste in which they have been written. 
The young writer is often told, by way of precept in his art, to erase 
from his manuscript whatever passage has struck him in the composi- 
tion as being particularly fine : Always suspect yourself when you 
perpetrate what you think fine writing ; good taste is apt to revolt at 
the effort to produce what is called effect. The essays of Dr. Cecil 
furnish but few occasions for the application of this precept. 

In the correspondence which now follows, the reader will peruse, 
with no little pleasure, the letters between the two friends who have 
been so frequently introduced into these pages. Wirt^and Carr are 
here in communion, chiefly upon the topics of the Old Bachelor, and 
the impressions these essays were making upon the public. The 
correspondence, also, touches another subject in which the friendship 
of one writer and the modesty of the other are most agreeably illus- 
trated. Some vacancies were about to take place in the arrangement 
of the Judiciary of the State, and Wirt was affectionately solicitous 
that his worthy friend should accept of an appointment to the Bench, 
which was likely to be offered to him. The letters will show, in a 
most attractive point of view, the disinterested and anxious regard; 
with which Wirt pressed the acceptance, and the amiable self-distrust 
and diffidence with which Carr received the appointment when it was 
finally conferred upon him. Without further comment upon these 
pleasant passages between two excellent men, I submit to my readers 
these letters, partially abridged, — asking those who peruse them to 
keep in mind that they belong to a private, confidential correspondence, ; 
held at a time when the writers exulted in all the hopes of the prime 
of manhood, and spoke to each other in the playful temper of friends 
who had no secrets in their companionship, nor motive to suppress 
the expression of any, the wildest, freak of the glad and jovial spirit 
which presided over their intimacy. 





LETTER FROM CARR. 

We take up this correspondence with an extract of a Mter from / 
Cavr, Trhich contains an amusing account of a visit lie had just made 
to Duulora, the scat, as the reader is aware, of his brother, Colonel 
Samuel Carr, in the neighbourhood of Charlottes^^lle, where the Old 
Bachelor had been the topic of conversation. The work had, at this ^ . 




^ 



time, reached the twelfth or thirteenth number, and the author was 
still unknown, beyond a current suspicion. Carr had just returned "^[^ 
from Richmond, whore he had been Wirt's guest, and was, therefore, ^,4^*^ 
supposed to know all about the book. He had himself also written fi 
Squaretoes, in the ninth number, which the company at Dunlora had -^ 
all read. ^ 

" I met there," he says in this letter, " Peter Minor and his wife, "^^ 
Dabney Minor and my brother Peter, who all made affectionate inqui- 
ries after you. Very soon, the conversation turned on the Old Ba- 
chelor. They seemed to think I must know all about it. I observed, 
gravely, if you were the author, you kept it very close, for you denied 
it to your best friends. 'As to that,' said Old Straws,* ' I feel as cer- 
tain that he wrote the papers, as if I had seen him at it.' I remarked, 
that if you did indeed write them, you must have taken very little time 
about it, for that I was with you almost the whole time, and saw no- 
thing of it. Peter Minor solved this doubt by saying, that he sus- 
pected the pieces were all written, for many numbers ahead, before 
any were published. Here my brother Peter put in again : — 'As to 
Love-truth, he could not pretend to say ; but Squaretoes, he was cer- 
tain, was not by the Old Bachelor : he could see the pen of George 
Tucker in every line of it : the phrases were all his, particularly, ' I 
scorn your words.' As another proof that it was not by the Old Ba- 
chelor, he said, ' There Was a warmth, and even a harshness, in the 
Bachelor's reply, in the next number, beyond what the occasion called 
for, — especially in his remarks on the Squaretoes library. For,' he 
maintained, ' there was not even a shadow of disrespect shown to the 
Bible by Obadiah : he was only enumerating the family books ; and, 
amongst these, he gave the Bible the fii'st place, and Mrs. Glass the 
last.' All this was nuts to m e. By-the-bye, my wife is convinced as 
to the author of Squaretoes. You remember, t told you I suspected 

♦ A jocular designation, it seems, of Peter Carr 

23* 



270 LETTER TO CARR. [1811. 

the bed of justice, held by Squaretoes and his dame, would be apt to 
betray me. It was even so. This, together with my abuse of ridi- 
cules, which she has often heard from me before, satisfied her. Frank 
also had his suspicions ; but my brother Peter overruled him, with a 
voice of authority." 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, February 10, 1811. 
My DEAR Frhend : 

Although rather tardy, I take the first twenty minutes I could call 
my own, since the arrival of your letters, to acknowledge the favour. 

I enjoyed very highly the scene at Dunlora. The sage guesses of 
the two Peters, and the twisting of your mouth, and working of your 
eyebrows, which I discerned as distinctly as if I had been gifted with 
the old Domine's deuteroscopy. 

****** 

The Old Bachelor, you perceive, begins to show the efiect of age. 
He moves slowly, and halts most horribly. The truth is, that the 
Court of Chancery has begun, and the old fellow cannot be expected, 
at his time of life, to carry double. Nothing from Parker yet. Is n't 
Frank ashamed of himself? 

The vacation of induced me to take an unauthorized liberty 

with a friend of mine, so far as to talk with some of the heads of the 
Lower House ; but they were all preoccupied, or seemed " to smell 
the business with a sense as cold as is a dead man's nose ;" and as I 
did not choose to commit that same friend on an uncertainty, I said 
no more. But it is inconceivable what an alarm the mere suggestion 
of such a rival produced among the candidates. Upon the whole, 't is 
all well. 

****** 

We are well. Cabell, his wife and Co., are here. Would you 
were with us ! 

I am in a storm of children. Our love to you and yours. 
Dinner is just ready 

Wm. Wirt, 



Carr had written another paper for the Old Bachelor, — a letter from 
Grace Squaretoes. He had no recognition of it from his friend, and 
had not yet received the short letter of the 10th; which we have just 
read. 



Chap. XIX.I THE OLD BACHELOR. 271 

FROM CARR TO WIRT. 

Charlottesville, February 11, 1811. 
"Ml Care Eras : 

I take it, you are a man of your word, — a most rare example of a 
punctual correspondent. When we parted, your last injunction, en- 
forced by a cordial shake of the hand, was, " write often." 

•X- «•**-:{■ -jfr 

-Nearly four weeks gone by, and not one line from you ! No, not 
a word ! Reflecting on this matter, I have supposed it possible that 
your silence has been caused by that same letter of Grace's. It was 
a hasty indiscretion, overlooked but once, and instantly closed and 
sent off. I have no doubt it is a poor thing. Now, I have thought 
it possible that, not finding it to your purpose, you have felt reluctant 
to tell me so, and seeing that you could not well write without saying 
something about it, you have been silent. If this should be the case, 
as I do not, in fact, believe, it would really mortify me, — not that 
the piece was rejected, but that you should have any difficulty in 
telling me so. * * * Could you think so 

poorly of me as to suppose, for a moment, I could not bear the rejec- 
tion of a bagatelle of mine ? 

* * * -jf * * 

I have ventured to let Old Straws into the secret. I thought it 
best ; for, not being trusted, he felt no restraint and asserted as con- 
fidently that you were the author, as if he had had the most positive 
information. I was in hopes, too, he would contribute ; and he has, 
indeed, promised me that he would try his hand. 

Oj O^ ^|> ^t^ ^L^ ^0 ^O 

Frank is still recreant, but he promises still. * * 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, February 15, 1811. 
My dear DaBxVEY : 

I have received your rebuke of the 11th inst., and would plead 
guilty to it if I had not written you, at least, one short letter, last 
Monday, and had not been so constantly occupied by the Court of 
Chancery and by company, as to leave me no time for any thing else. 

Of the constancy as well as the importunity of these engagements, 
you will be able to form a proper estimate, when you discover that I 
have not been able, this week, to take even a short airing on my 
hobby, the Old Bachelor. 

I acknowledge your goodness in having given me three excellent 
letters since your departure. Of that which describes the Punlora 



272 CORRESPONDENCE WITH CARR. [1811. 

scene, I have already written. It was a good one. I entirely ap 
prove of your communication, since, to our brother Peter. Indeed 
secrecy, though I feel its importance now more than ever, seems to he 
impossible. Joe Cabell, to whom Read imparted it through mistake, , 
told me, when I enjoined secrecy upon him, that I resembled the : 
ostrich, hiding his head while his whole body was exposed to the 
world. 

->:- «■ * -sf * ->t 

Miss Grace is, I think, a lass of grace. Eut I will take the liberty 
of telling you, that I have seen you in moments of happier inspiration, 
T.'hen you could have made more of the damsel than you have done 
When I wrote you on Sunday, I had determined to give her to the 
world, without touching one thread of her dress ; but I think now, I 
will make free enough to alter a little the set of her cap and fixture 
of her tucker. No, sir, I have no more fear of offending or wounding 
you, by changing or rejecting one of your essays, than if it were one 
of my own ; and, as I have taken both these liberties with several of 
mine, so will I take them with yours, as often as there shall, in my 
opinion, be occasion. 

I beg you to continue the use of your stimulants to our brother 
Peter. He is a fellow of such vai-ious and ample reading, and of such 
just and copious thought and splendid diction, that I should think it 
impossible for any thing to fall from his pen, but what would do credit 
to the Old Bachelor. I should think he would shine in the depart- 
ment of criticism and of fancy. Cannot he give us an oriental or oc- 
cidental tale, or an allegory, or any thing of that, or any other sort ? 
The epistolary style would, perhaps, put him more at his ease ; and, 
it would cost him very little eflbrt, I should think, to address a letter 
to Doctor C . 

What you tell me of the increasing fame of the Old Bachelor, is 
calculated, in some degree, to dispel the lassitude that is beginning to 
creep upon me in relation to the old fellow. 

I very frankly confess to you, (though I would not do it to every 
^^'ody,) that I am tired of the project, even before I have reached the 
principal subject, education. But, besides this, our courts are now 
made perpetual, and the Old Bachelor is rather in the way of my 
business. I do not mean, by this, that I have resolved to drop him 
altogether; but, that he will see the light much more rarely than 
heretofore. - 

I am only able to attend to him of nights; and these, besides the 
calls of the law, are very much at the mercy of visitors. To this lat- 
ter cause it is, in a great degree, owing that there is no number this 
week. 

Frank is a dastardly fellow. I had thought him a Corinthian — 

a lad of metal, — but 1 now discover that he is no better than he 

should be. Parker lias not given me a single line. 



Chap. XIX.] ^ THE OLD BACHELOR. 273 

I have no more time to write now ; and all this being about the Old 
Bachelor, docs not look much as if I was tired of it. 
Our love to you, and Mrs. C, and children. 

Wm. Wirt. 



FROM CARR TO WIRT. 

Charlottesville, February 18, 1811. 
Ms DEAR Friend : 

With respect to that rebuke of mine, as you call it, you know I 
only meant to show you that I was very anxious to hear from you ; 
and, whenever I give you cause, or you take it into your head that I 
do, you shall abuse me in turn, and I will say, ' you are welcome, 
brother Shandy, if it were fifty times as much.' 

Poor Grace ! I certainly used her scurvily. My excuse is, that 
she was done up in too great a hurry. Alter not only her cap and 
tucker, but — asking her pardon — you may strip her altogether, if you 
like, and dress her to your mind. I fear, however, that the story my 
old master,:' |Iaury^ used to tell his pupils a hundred times, of Pope 
and the link-boy, will be applicable to her. You knew the old gen- 
tleman. He doated on a good story. It was our practice to -Write a 
Latin exercise on a slate, and take it to him of a morning If there 
was any false Latin, he marked it with a pencil, and we had to mend 
it. When it was very bad, he sometimes rubbed out the whole. 
Then came the old story : ' Did you ever hear the story of Pope and 
the link-boy ? ' 

' No, sir.' 

' I '11 tell it to you. Pope, the poet, was a homely little fellow, 
somewhat deformed. When any thing surprised him, or happened 
suddenly, he had a way of crying out, ' God mend me ! ' One night, 
as he was walking the street, he called a link-boy — a shabby-looking 
dog — to light him on his way. Presently he stumbled, and falling, 
cried out, ' God mend me ! ' ' Lord, sir ! ' — says the boy — ' mend 
you ? He 'd better undertake to make two new ones.' 

The good old man was so pleased with the wit of the story, that 
the boys generally got off without further scolding. 

******* 

Frank is, as you say, a terrible rascal. I tell him so, and abuse 
him shockingly. He is about it, and about itj but when he will be 
done, nobody knows. 

8 



274 CORRESPONDENCE WITH CARR. [1811. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, February 27, 1811. 
]\Iv DEAR Friend: 

I snatch a morniug before breakfast to thank you for your favour 
of the 18th. 

:i< * * :i; ^s * >!« 

You must excuse the tardiness of Miss Grace's appearance. I am 
reserving her till I have leisure to ]Aaj the dressing-maid to her. But 
do not be alarmed for her native graces, — I shall do very little, and 
tliat little vrill not affect the simplicity of her appearance. I shall 
bring her out on a holiday, and make " the town-bred fair'' blush at 
her superiority. 

I have several correspondents on my hands, (I mean in my charac- 
ter of the Old Bachelor,) who embarrass me not a little. One of 
them, e7itre. nous, is . But I am obliged to strangle his off- 
spring in the birth, as monstrous : and monstrous you will think them, 

when you learn that they are to be rejected, while is to be 

chosen. By-the-bye, we were too hasty in giving that promise ; for I 
shall have so much ado to mend him, that I am, in relation to him, 
exactly within the rule of Pope's link-boy. 

Yes, poor old Parson . I well know how he could tell the 

same story with unabated pleasure. D'ye mind — as the Scotch-Irish 
say, over the Ridge — the way he had of reciting Horace's Odes ; ask- 
ing you, in a conversational voice, rather piano and in alio, if you 
remembered that beautiful ode beginning, " Stet alta nive candidum 
Soracte," and, at the reciting part, dropping abruptly into the pulpit 
dirge ? Well, he was a good old fellow, and I remember him with 
even more esteem and affection than I was conscious of feeling for him 
when living. 

•X- * * * 4f * 

I have another piece from G-., rather better than the former. I 
have several, too, from Gr. T., two of which you will see in number 
fifteen — the letters from Vamper and Schryphel. All the rest of the 
number is Cecil's. To take the point of the concluding paragraph of 
O'Flannagan's letter, you must read the close of Blackburn's adver- 
tisement in the last Enquirer. He is the mathematical professor 
Y/illiam and Mary College ; a capital mathematician, but one of the 
most imprudent of Irishmen, — which is saying a boidd irord. 
* -X- -::- * Tc * 

I have received, from various quarters, the most encouraging evi- 
dences of the success of the Old Bachelor. Doctor Hare, (who, I 
hope, as he and all his old friends do, has been brought back to life 
and his old constitution, by his late salivation, — having every evidence 
of health except flesh and strength, which he is fast recovering, — and 



+ 



Cbap. XIX.] THE JUDGESHIP. 275 

who desires to be most affectionately remembered to you,) Dr. Hare, 
I say, (Bjair !) writes me that L. C. is enraptured witli the Old J>a- 
cholor. They concur in thinking it will be of great service. Tucker 
writes that it is doing good to the country, and honour to its author. 
Judge Nelson calls it a most noble and honourable enterprise. * 

* These things, and many more which I hear, (such 

as that the subscribers to the Enquirer have very much increased, in 
consequence of it,) not only encourage me to go on, but enforce your 
sentiment that it is a duty; and on I shall go, as fast and as well as 
I can, for my professional engagements. In the meantime, you, who 
live in the country, must watch and tell me when my readers are get- 
ting tired, and when they censure either the matter or the manner. 
****** 

Frank is a scurvy rascal ; and if he does not make haste, I will 
impale him in the face of that public to whom I have extolled him. 
After seeing what light things we occasionally publish, why should the 
rascal be holding Ms head so high? His head, did I say? "He has 
a head, and so has a pin." Let him take that, and put it in his pocket. 

"What from Don Pedro ? 

****** 

I am — why need I tell you what ? 

Wm. Wirt. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

RjcHMOND, March 8, 1811 
My DEAR Friend : 

Our friend Kinney has long since informed you, in detail, lolicrefore 
(as our Chancellor says) we acted as we did in relation to you last 
winter : i. e., why we did not act at all. The judicial vacancy on 
which we had our eye, not having been created, there was an end of 
that project. Another has now occurred. James Pleasants has re- 
signed the office of Judge of the Court of Appeals, and Tucker (this 
is, for the present, a profound secret which everybody knows) will 
resign in the course of the month. This creates two vacancies in the 
Court of Appeals. — Don't be alarmed; — it is not that court I am 
thinking of for you now. — But those two vacancies, so as aforesaid 
created and to he created, must be filled, and, it is pretty well ascer- 
tained, will be filled by Stuart and Cabell. To Stuart's circuit, I 
suppose Coalter will fall heir ; and I presume you would not have 
Coalter's: but what say you to Cabell's? He says it is a most de- 
lightful circuit. It includes Powhatan, — in the which county, in the 
vicinity of Pleasants and Pope, you might easily locate yourself upon 
a little farm, and live in primeval innocence and happiness. 

I know it is a heart-string-snapping sort of business, to quit Chai- 
, lottesville and its purlieus. Would it then be possible for you so to 



276 CORRESPONDENCE WITH CARR. [1811. 

arrange with Coalter as to keep the Charlottesville district? These ^ 
things you must think of, and arrange as you can. 

•X- * * * «• -x- 

There is no division of opinion among your friends here, that youi 
ought to accept, if it shall be tendered, an appointment by the Coun 
oil; because, examining the subject with all possible calmness, we; 
have no doubt of your confirmation by the Legislature ; and of your 
appointment by the Council I have very little fear. There is Hare — 
(who is almost well, and who will be here by the time the appoint-- 
ment is made;) — well, there is Hare, Read, Wardlow, Randolph, 
Doctor Jones, who, I think, will certainly vote for you. Then you 
have an equal chance for the rest, who are Colonel Smith, (Geo. "\V.) 
Mims and Mallory : thus you see your chances. Will you come in, 
or will you not ? You see, if you are elected, that is, appointed by 
the Council, there will be no occasion for your removal, or making 
any other arrangements, until we see whether you shall be confirmed 
by the Assembly ; and if you should not, I suppose it will neither 
break your leg nor pick your purse materially. Rut should you be 
confirmed, — of which, I repeat it, there is no reasonable ground to 
doubt, — why, then, sir, you are an honourable for life ; in a fair way 
to the highest honours of your profession ; and, in fiict, advanced to 
within a few jumps of the goal. 

I pray you, weigh this matter, and be prepared to decide it, if you 
shall be called upon. I suppose wc shall know the whole result before 
this month is out, or very early in the next. 

I am in a great hurry ; and so, with our love to Mrs. Carr, yourself 
• and children, 

I am, as ever. 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

March 10, 1811. 
* * -x- * * -x- 

Ry-the-bye, let me boast a little : yet I am more ashamed of show- 
ing vanity before you than any other man in the world. I persuade 
myself, however, that the pleasure which a man feels at the approba- 
tion of the great and good is laudable, and scarcely deserves so degrad- 
ing a name as vanity. If this point is settled in my favour, then I 
will tell you that R., who is just from Washington, says that the Old ^| 
Rachelor has great eclat at head-quarters ; that^Mr. Madison had said, 
six-, (so I desire that you will pay proper respect to me, hereafter,) 
that he thought Mr. W.'s pen, at least, ought to redeem us from the 
censures of the luliuburgh Reviewers j that there was a chastity, an 
clegauce, and a something else, which R. could not remember, in his 



Crap. XIX.] THE JUDGESHIP. 277 

style, which charmed him. Now, sir, if R. did not invent this, quod 
non constat, it is a compliment. What makes me most dubious of it 
is, that, if there be any thing bearable in my style, the points of com- 
pliment which R. imputes to Mr. M. are not exactly those I should 
have expected. Chastity is the character of Mr. JM.'s own style; as 
to mine, I have thought it about as chaste as Cleopatra in her attire. 
But enough, and too much, of me and my brats. 

I conversed with Nicholas, yesterday, de loco vacuo judlcis. He 
thinks it as plain as a pike-staff in our fivour. 

I have very little doubt of it, and advise you to hold yourself ready, 
sub rosa, to take a circuit on the first of April ; for it will be, perhaps, 
a sudden thing. 

About a place of residence, in case of your appointment, — you will 
see, by the range of Cabell's circuit, that it offers a variety, for it takes 
in Amelia, the neighbourhood of Griles, Eppes, and the Tabbs, besides 
Powhatan and Manchester. 

In the latter place and its neighbourhood, there are a variety of 
beautiful tenements, and lots of from twelve to twenty acres, where 
you might raise a profusion of clover for your horses and cows ; enjoy 
the fine prospect of Richmond, its Capitol, and picturesque hills and 
valleys, together with the whole ambit of James River, its fidls and 
port ; besides the power of our being with each other as long and as 

often as we please. What say you to this ? And when old H 

dies — think of that. Master Brooke ! — Q — E — D, — as Warden told 
the Court of Appeals. Now, d'ye see, Judge Carr, I think this a 
most capital plan. By my conscience, as the Bishop says, (for I love 
to quote my authority always,) I think Judge Carr has a most origi- 
nal, and, as it were, melodious sort of a sound. 

To think what we are all to come to ! Well, happy man be his 
dole, say I ! — And that, of all the Carrs, the honour should light upon 
my old Louisa and Fluvanna comrade, with his grumbling and blue 
devils ! Well, it is a long lane that has no turn, and an ill wind that 
blows nobody luck, — also, throw a crust of bread, &c., — together with 
forty other proverbs that Sancho would pour forth on a like occasion. 

If W. II. Cabell is elected, he will immediately come here to live. 
I think his brother Joe will come here too ; and if you come to Man- 
chester, — only think, with the aid of Davy, and Clarke and /, and 
occasional visits from our upland friends, what a society we may form ! 
Shall we not find the foot-hold that Archimedes wished for in vain, 
and turn the world upside-down, — I mean the moral and literary 
world ? I scarce think we could turn up a worse side ; it is the deuce 
of clubs, or at least, the curse of Scotland. My spirits are in such a 
jig at this prospect, that I can scarcely hold my pen to write intelli- 
gibly ; and at such a time, and on such an occasion, I scorn to write 
anything but nonsense. 

Eor fear, however, of false inferences, you will please to be informed 

Vol. L— 24 



278 CORRESPONDENCE WITH CARR. 11811. 

that it is the forenoon, and I am just from churcli. So, sir, I scorn 
your suspicions. 

Cabell went up home this morning. I wrote to Hare, and gave 
him your postscript, verbatim et literatim. You know it is about 
binding him, hand and foot, and deporting him, if he will not keep 
away from Eichmond. Whereupon, I observed, that I believed you 
never would forgive him if he should even go so fir as to come down 
only for a day or two to vote for you. I gave him to understand, 
indeed, that your appointment would pi'obably depend upon it, but 
that he was not to mind that. 

Now, are you not ashamed of that selfish twinge which leads you 
to wish that Hare would, at least, trust himself here until he could 
give his vote ? — So you would endanger his health rather than not 
get the office ! — fie, fie, sir ! However, believing that such would 
be your wish, to tell you the truth, I observed to him that I thought 
you would not be implacable for a short trip on this occasion; and he 
will certainly come, dead or alive. 

Love to all. 

Again yours, 

Wm. Wirt. 

CARR TO WIRT. 

Charlottesville, March 14, 1811. 
My DEAR Friend: 

I dined at Monticello yesterday, and did not return home until a 
little after night. My children were put to bed; my wife and I 
sitting cjuietly by our happy fireside — I reading to her Lady Mon- 
tague's letters — when suddenly it occurred to me that it was post 
day. I sent a servant immediately for my letters, who, returning, 
brought me yours of the 8th and 10th. 

It would have diverted you, not a little, to see the flurry and flutter 
into which this threw us. It was the first time that the idea of ele- 
vation to the Bench, was brought distinctly before me. I had \aewed 
it before as a distant possibility. Your letter made it, at least, pro- 
bable that it would be offered to me, and that very soon. I cannot 
tell you what a feeling this produced ; — a feeling which seems to in- 
crease as I think of it — something like a timid young girl on the eve 
of marriage. How will it be with me ? Mounted on the bench, the 
officers of justice planted around, court opened, the bar lined with 
attorneys, every one thronging in to see the new judge, the grand 
jury sworn, proclamation made that his Honour is about to charge 
them — then the stormy wave of the multitude hushed into silence, 
and every eye bent upon me. What a tremour the idea gives me ! 
Yet I will 02. 



Chap. XIX.] THE JUDGESHIP. 279 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, March 23, 1811. 
My dear Friend : 

Cabell is elected to tLe Court of Appeals, and your election is in- 
fallible. Out of six members who are here, it is ascertained that 
there are four who are for you. Hare, Head, Randolph and Ward- 
low : — how the remaining membei-s are is unknown ; but there is no 
probability of their concurring against you — and, if they do, your 
friends are resolved to hold the Council divided rather than give way. 
The point, it is supposed, will be decided on Tuesday next, and I re- 
gai'd you as elected. 

Now, sir, I hope you will sit down, immediately on the receipt of 
this, and write your address to the grand jury. 

Take care of your modesty; that is, beware lest it impair the energy 
and dignity of the judge. Don't go and be overwhelmed and panic- 
struck, as I was, so as to make people think '' poor fellow, I dare say 
he wishes he was at home again." 

You know that I am not such a simpleton as to find fault with that 
degree of modesty which unlocks the hearts of men, women and chil- 
dren, to a man. But I know that you do think, and ever have, for 
these fifteen years, at least, thought of yourself with too much hu- 
mility. Now, although " in peace there 's nothing so becomes a man, 
as modest stillness and humility, yet when the blast of court blowa 
in our ears," and sheriff's o-yes bids the jury rise, "then stiffen the 
sinews, bend the muscles ud, and imitate the action of" — Lord Mans- 
field. 

These two appointments put a poultice on the bruises of the Legion 
and Clarke. "0, that right should thus overcome might," — as the 
old woman says in the play, when she is meaning to complain of the 
oppression of power. 

Sir, you are to make a great man. The organization of your mind 
qualifies you to scale the heights of Mansfield and Hardwicke ; and 
your temper and manners will strew flowers on the path of your 
ascent. 

You must read every book that IMansfield ever read ; they are all 
to be had, and your leisure will now enable you to do it. Sir,^ you 
shall " bestride the lazy-pacing cloud, and sail upon the bosom of the 
air," and mark " the white up-turned eyes of us mortals tha^ ^all back 
to gaze on" — you. 

I tell you again, that you can, and must, and shall stand upon the 
very summit, the pinnacle, the apex of judicial glory. I know it — I 
see it — and who shall say me nay ? 

Your circuit will bring you close to us. Chesterfield is only six- 
teen miles from us ; Powhatan but thirty. You must come and see 



280 CORRESPONDENCE WITH CARR. [1811. 

us between terms ; this, you know, is your home — but need I tell you 
this? 

I will endeavour to get from Cabell, a statement of the difficult 
questions which he has suspended by an advisari viill, together with 
his authorities, notes, &c., and meet you, with them, somewhere upon 
your circuit. 

Hare and myself count on your making such an impression through- 
out your circuit this sjDring and fall, that " ?rtm nor cUvils" cannot 
'■'slap ye" from being confirmed next winter. 

It will be an awkward thing for you not to know the bar, and as 
awkward for you (a judge) to carry letters of introduction to the law- 
yers. I believe the best plan will be for Cabell to send a letter of 
introduction to some one prominent member of each bar, introducing 
him to you, and begging him to introduce his brethren to you, and 
the respectable country gentlemen around the court-houses. This will 
answer the purpose without letting you down. 

* * -x- -x- ^ ■»■ * 

My watch informs me that the mail has closed. I will, therefore, 
take my leisure, and write a little more legibly, since I have to depend 
on Frank to get this in as a way-letter. But I cannot write a very 
long letter, because I have to finish the nineteenth number of the Old 
Bachelor to-night. 

I think your remark on 's letters is correct ; the irony is too 

delicate, — it is cold. Yet, the pieces have played the deuce with the 
Old Bachelor here — they are said to be personal attacks; and, with 
the co-operation of my own seventeenth number, have subjected me 
to a good deal of ill-natured remark, as if I were lampooning the town. 
If such a notion as this were once to get on foot, all the benefits in- 
tended by the publication would be at an end. And, therefore, I sat 
down, immediately, and wrote the eighteenth number, to prevent any 
such pernicious effects. I believe it has answered the purpose. But 
I am very much trammelled by this impertinence in applying cha- 
racters. It is much the liveliest and most impressive way of moral- 
izing; yet I never draw a character without displeasing somebody or 
other. If it is wrong to draw characters, you are partly in fault, for 
you said to me, not long before you left me, ''you must begin, pre- 
sently, to draw characters." Why should not I ? AVhat right have 
the rascals to find fault with me, if a vicious character fits them ? As 
to lampooning or throwing stones for pure mischief and wantonness, 
I would sooner cut off my right hand. But if it is necessary to the 
purposes of virtue, if it is the most interesting mode that I can adopt 
to expose a vice, and render it ridiculous or hateful, why should I 
not do it? 

^ * >!; 5f; ^: Hs ^ 

You see, Ilitchie is going to make a book of the old fellow. I 
don't much like this way of becoming an author, or rather of being 



' Chap. XIX.] THE OLD BACHELOR. 281 

ninde one without having the fear of it, all along, before my eyes. 
Now, mo.st certainly, if I had intended to sit down and write a book, 
and become a downright author, I should have chosen a subject better 
cahnduted to put me up in the ranks ; one calculated to exhibit the 
whole of the little compass and strength of my mind. If I had real' 
ized the idea that my good name, ftxme and reputation were at stake, 
I would have taken care to write to the best advantage — in rural pri- 
vacy^, for instance, and only in the happiest moments of inspiration, 
after having, by previous meditation, exhausted upon it all my retail 
shop of thought. Instead of this, I have been dribbling on, with a 
loose pen, carelessly and without any labour of thinking, amidst inces- 
sant interruptions — and with the printer's devil at my elbow, every 
half-hour, jogging me for more copy. 

It is true, the probability of the numbers being collected into a 
volume, was several times mentioned to me, and several times passed 
slightly through my mind. But somehow I have not dwelt upon it; 
the idea has not been realized ; and it seems impossible that any man 
writing newspaper essays, as I am doing, can have the feelings or care 
of a man who sits down with malice prepense to write a book. But 
enough on this tack; you will think all this affectation: — but if you 
do, as Tom Bowling says, in Roderick Random, '' you will think a 
d d lie." 

Why does not our trusty and well-beloved Peter sow some of the 
seeds of immortality in the Old Bachelor ? If he does not, the old 
fellow will be under the turf in less than ten years. 

Is not Frank a rascal ? Does n't he know that he is a rascal ? Has 
he the face to deny that he is a rascal ? The fellow's face, to be sure, 
is ugly and hard enough for any thing : but if he were to deny that 
he is a rascal, he would be no true man. I shall take care to put a 
key to the first volume of the Old Bachelor, to let the world know 
who is meant by Galen, and shall publish the letters that I have ' 
received from him on this subject, in an appendix, that the world may 
know what sort of fellow he is, and that I did not make the promise 
I have given, without authority. 

I told you I should not write a long letter, and you see I am better 
than my word. But it is past nine o'clock, and I have yet to finish 
the nineteenth number. Grace will be out on Tuesday week. 

Our love to your household. Hare is stiil well. 

Adieu, 

Wm, Wirt. 
2-i* 



282 CORRESPONDENCE WITH CARR. [1811. 

CARR TO WIRT. 

Charlottesvillk, March 25, 1811. 
My dear Friend : ^ 

* * . * * * * 

Yesterday's mail brougtt me yours of the 23d. You say my election 
is infallible. I must acknowledge it looks something like it. So, upon 
the strength of it, I have begun to prepare in earnest. Fearful is the 
thought of sticking myself upon the Bench, standing the shot of every 
eye, and giving it back in speeches ; but, I will screw my courage to 
the sticking point, and, with a strong effort, drive back the blood 
which would mount into my face. They shall not see the coward 
heart which trembles within. " How many men who, inward searched, 
have livers white as milk, wear yet upon their front the brow of Her- 
cules and frowning Mars." I don't know whether this quotation be 
apposite, but you may take it, as a Rowland for your Oliver. 
******* 

As to your meeting me on my circuit, there are two objections : 
First, it would be a trouble which I cannot consent you should take : 
and, second, I had rather take a bear by the chin than see you in 
court whilst I was on the bench in my first circuit. I will not say, 
my dear Wirt, that the friendly solicitude and zeal you have shown 
for me, in this afiair, have sui-prised me ; but I will say, they have 
given me the truest pleasure my heart can feel. I will say, that they 
have raised me in my own esteem ; for I can never believe that man 
without merit, for whom you have discovered so much friendship. 
******* 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, March 26, 1811. 
My dear Friend : 

Your stars have at length done you justice. The course of glory 
is opened to you, and the goal in full view. 

******* 

It is but this instant that H , a mischievous old rascal, has )| 

made my heart sink and turn cold, by telling me, with the best acted 

gravity, that T was elected. lie relieved me, however, in two 

or three minutes after I was semi-anlmis. 

I understand that you had five out of six of the Council in your 
favour. This is glorious ! I will drink your health in a bumper, at j 
dinner, and hail you as Judge Carr. Now, how busy, busy will your i 



Chap. XIX.] CORRESPONDENCE WITH CARR. 283 

imagination be, as you ride home. How will the plans and schemes 

swarm ! — the airy castles tower ! To eke out these operations, II 

says, he '11 be if you shall come to Manchester. He says you 

shall buy a small farm in the country, where, with six or seven 
servants, you can maintain your family, keep your children in health, 
and save your salary, wholly. 

The suggestion brought a very beautiful and valuable place, as 
represented to me, in Powhatan, in full view. It belongs to a man 
by the name of Woodson, — has an admirable piece of meadow on it, 
and a most excellent, nay, beautiful house, with all necessary offices. 

I should have bought it myself, last summer, but Cabell, Hare and 
others persuaded me I had no business with a farm. 

This place lies within two miles of Pope's ; and, I think, will cost 
you seven or eight thousand dollars, at the outside, — of which only 
two or three thousand, I think, were required in cash. You can buy 
this place, and stock it, Avithout invading your salary, or absorbing 
that capital of which we talked when you were here. You can make 
your farm a source of profit, as well as of subsistence ; and, I doubt 
not, that if you provide the first payment, the instalments will be 
easily met by the agricultural profits and the interest of your remain- 
ing capital, so as to leave that capital, itself, whole, and enable you to 
lay up and save every cent of your salary. 

Think of the accumulations of ten years, on this scale, while fame 
is accumulating also. The prospect is delightful ! 

You see, I have done justice to this scheme of H 's. He went 

fa.'ther, and contrasted the consequences of a residence in Manchester ; 
and, although his argument thwarted the plan which self would have 
prescribed for you (meaning my self), yet I confess he staggered me 
in relation to your interests. 

These things, however, we can examine maturely, before the Legis- 
lature shall meet. 

>is >x * * * * * 

I think I can see your broad grin before you get within a hundred 
and fifty yards of your house. These are precious feelings. 
Once more, God bless you. 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wikt. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, April 11, 1811. 
My DEAR Chevalier, alias Judge, &c. : 

I was honoured (mark me, sir, I say honoured, for I felt the honour 
most sensibly) by a letter from your wife, by the last Charlottesville 
mail, enclosing one for you. By-the-bye, she calls herself my friend 
therein ; and I would not give that declaration for all the fvi*\''.i^hip 



284 VAGARIES. [1811. 

of you he fellows that ever were born. I tell you, sir, the word made 
my heart leap, and I thought I was somebody. ! there is some- 
thing in the friendship of one of those souls of heavenly mould, that 

makes all the earth vanish in my view ! Confound it ! Was there 

ever a fellow so much disappointed ? I was so much transported with 
this imagination of friendship, that, thinking it too much, I have: 
turned to her short note, and instead of ''friend," find it "yours,! 
with great esteem." How came the idea into my head ? No matter.; 
'^^ours, with great esteem," is good; but, how much greater andl 
less happy does it make me than " your friend." Poh ! says your 
judicial dignity, what nonsense! Well, sir, — "poh!" —and there, 
as George Hay told Edmund Kandolph, is a " poh for you." Now, | 
sir, as I am told you can't receive your own letter from your wife 
until after this, you shall have the whole of hers to me, and so I 
enclose it, upon your special promise to return it again. 

And so, as I was saying — thinks I — would it not be pleasing to 

Mrs. C , to let her know I have received her husband's letter, 

and that it is in the right track to get to him ? Thereupon, sir, I 
sets me down, and forthwith, in choice phrase^ I writes me a letter to 
your wife. 

If a man will leave his wife, and go off. Heaven knows where, he 
must not be surprised if a sentimental young Adonis, like me, tries to 
take advantage of his absence. What I did write, sir, you will not 
hear from me, nor from her, unless she has a mind to put an end to 
the correspondence, thus happily begun. 

Hem ! — hem ! You are wrong, sir. The guess is incorrect. I 
have had no company to-day. Two segars, indeed, I have smoked ; 
but, I am just half-way through a Court of Appeals argument, and I 
am displeased at the injustice you do me in supposing me to the south 
of the equator. 

Talking of the equator ; come, let us be geographical. Heavens ! 
Where are you ? Ain't you out of your latitude ? — What a parcel 
of savages ! — or, as they used to call it, salvages. Hush ! They 
speak well of you; and, gratitude is a virtue in spite of Godwin. 

Well, now I will be serious. I turned the page with a determina- 
tion to convince you I was sober, — and so I will ; — for when a man 
is — sober, why shouldn't he appear to be so ? Very true ! " But 
when or where this world was made for C£esar, I am weary of con- 
jectures. — This shall end them.'' 

God bless you. All well. 

Wm. Wirt. 

P. S. — Cabell says I must be drunk, or I should not have said 
" confound'^'' to you, when I might have said " consume,''^ which he 
takes to be your word ; and which I now, for the first time, suspect 
you caught from Colonel Morris, with the rest of your classics. 



Chap. XIX.] THE ATTORNEY-GENERALSHIP. 285 

Love Peter Randolph. I am told his modesty envelopes him; but, 
whcu you pierce it, you will liud him lovely. 

Not one line for me. Then come and sec me. 

Judge C , inspired by this, writes you a funny httor, which he 

expects you to laugh at, in every line. 

Did you ever see such grave judicial stuff? 

In reply to this he says : " you be !" " Upon my word," says 

N , " this is Judge-like ;" but she is a federalist, and, of course, 

malicious. A literal dialogue. 

w. w. 



TO DABNEY CARR. 

Richmond, June 28, 1811. « 
My DEAR Judge : 

Never having committed such an act of negligence, as to leave 
behind me the key of my baggage, I know not how to imagine your 
embarrassments, or sympathise with your distresses. Carelessness, 
''in man or woman, dear my lord, is," — as the old fellow told Colo- 
nel McDowell, " what I do hate." How does this tagging of Shak- 
speare, and patching elegant quotations, hit your taste ? JVunquam 
animus. 

Judge Coalter takes your key, and will chaunt you the triumphs of 
the Court of Appeals. 

I am in main haste. My wife and bairns join in love to you and 
yours. Ere long, I shall write to you apud largum. For the pre- 
sent, with love to Don Pedro and friends, 

I am yours, 

Wm. Wirt. 

In the midst of all the playfulness and exultation apparent in these 
letters, Wirt was suddenly brought to the contemplation of political 
preferment, for which he had hitherto expressed such determined 
aversion. The resignation of Mr. Rodney, which occurred at this 
period, left the post of Attorney-General open to the disposal of the 
President. Many eyes were turned upon Mr. Wirt at this juncture, 
as likely to be called to fill this office. His position at the bar, his 
acquirements and high reputation, as well as the friendly appreciation 
of him by Mr. Madison, rendered this event quite probable. The 
general speculation of the society of Richmond upon this appoint- 
ment, brought the subject so directly to his mind, that he was obliged 
to give it consideration — not very graveh', indeed, as will be seen 
presently. How he entertained the proposition, may be read in the 



286 LETTER TO CARR. [1811. 

following letter, in reply to some jocular adnce upon the matter from 
Carr. 

The reader will understand the reference to the " lignum apis At- 
torney-General," as a specimen of that latinity which^ he may have 
heretofore observed, was somewhat cultivated between the. two corre- 
spondents. Carr, in this vocabulary, is called "Carissime Currus ; 
Wirt is sometimes addressed, in return, as -'Mi care Eras." With 
this key, we may translate " nunquam animus," in the last letter, 
"nevermind," and the phrase above alluded to, "ligjuwi apis," to 
signify the "would-be" Attorney-Greneral. 

This letter is dated from Montevideo, the summer residence of 
Judge Cabell, in Buckingham, on the James River, where Wirt and 
his family were frequent guests. 

TO DABNEY CARR. 

Montevideo, August 11, 1811. 
My dear Friend : 

I have already written seven letters this morning, to go by the 
Judge, who has gone to Buckingham Court-house, and thus to be 
thrown (i. e., the letters) into the current of the mail; but six of 
those letters were on business, the seventh in reply to one from Gene- 
ral Minor, which I was anxious should meet him at the Sulphur 
Springs, and which it will be pushed to do, as the letter will have to 
make a cu'cuit by Richmond. 

****** 

Your letter was to have been answered, also, through the same 
channel. But, although I rose by the dawn of day, and had to write 
by candle-light, my letters were unavoidably so long, and the Judge 
started so early, that I lost his conveyance for my answer to you, and 
shall have to throw this into the devious and perilous track of the 
Warminster monsoon : — the Lord send it a safe deliverance ! I am 
in the humour, however, to write ; and there is this advantage in the 
communion of the heart, that it is of no date, and so never grows stale. 
So now to your letter by Cabell, — which is one " so" more than the 
laws of euphony will justify, — and so I add two more, by way of keep- 
ing them in countenance. Mlons. 

It was, I think, only last winter that I told jo\x, in all the sincerity 
and solemnity of friendly confidence, that I had resolved on a plan of 
life, from which I would not depart ; which was, to follow with ardour 
the pursuit of my profession, along the smooth bosom of the Pacific, 
on which I was now gliding with a fair breeze and flowing sail ; and 
thus keep myself clear, by many a league, both of land and water. 



Chap. XIX.] THE ATTORNEY-GENERALSHIP. 287 

and of those dark and rough storms which are perpetually scourging 
and lashing into foam the political Baltic. I saw by the experience 
of others, I told you, the treatment which I should experience, and 
could anticipate, almost with certainty, the topics of abuse and vilifi- 
cation with which I should be regaled. All this was certainly pru- 
dence and sound sense, — perhaps a little too timorous for a hero ; but, 
nevertheless, sensible, — and, as old James Hei'on said, when he threw 
up the ace, king and queen of trumps, at loo, " One cannot be too 
cautious." 

Well, after this discreet, rational, philosophic talk, which, I remem- 
ber, satisfied you perfectly at the time, if I might judge by silence, 
looks and nods of assent, the next thing you hear from me is, that I 
am red-hot, hissing hot for a plunge into that aforesaid Baltic. What 
are you to think of such a man ? Does such light and weathercock 
versatility denote a man of sufficient sinew to breast the surge of that 
stormy sea, and hold on upon his course ? Does it become a man who 
would be a politician ? Was I not deceiving both myself and you, 
when I thought myself philosophizing and resolving prudently ? Was 
I not merely preparing a fund of consolation for political obscurity, 
and providing, without being conscious of it, for a walk, which I could 
not avoid, through the humble vale of life — for that track for which, 
alone, so much fickleness and caprice show that I am fitted ? Or have 
fame and distinction charms which no man (however resolved) can 
resist, on whom they please to look ? Or have I mistaken my own 
particular character ; and has there been, all along, a fund of dormant 
ambition in my breast, which required but the match to be pointed 
towards it, to blow up and betray itself; and that, too when it was too 
late to do any thing but betray itself? 

Now, I dare say that, so far from being ready to give me satisfac- 
tion in these particulars, your judicial head is, by this time, pretty 
much in the state of my Uncle Toby's, on a certain occasion which 
shall be nameless. 

But what is the use of pestering ourselves with speculations on this 
subject? The fact is so; the cat is out of the bag, — and what odds 
does it make how she came in it ? 

Very true ; but inconsistency is so weak and silly a thing, that a 
man would much rather bewilder the beholder, in an abstruse and 
multi-f irked speculation about its cause, than to stand stock still, like 
a .target, and brave his steady gaze. Moore talks vei-y happily of 
"(lulling delight, by exploring its cause;" why may not a man bor- 
row a hint from that thought, and endeavour to be " dulling contempt 
by exploring its cause?" I am not certain of the accuracy of the 
analogy; but I shall not stop my pen to examine it; for, if I do, I 
may have to blot out, and I hate a blurred and blotted letter : so, 
here we go ! 

Now, sir, let me tell you that I did not like your " lignum apis 



288 LETTER TO CARR. [1811. 

Attorney-General of the United States." The retort was not a fair 
one ; you are hi office, snug and safe, and, therefore, were fair and 
lawful game; whereas I was only in a state of aspiration, with a 
])retty fair prospect of a disappointment before me. Sir, you were 
not only violating Sterne's beautiful sentiment of breaking' a jest in 
the sacred presence of sorrow, but were breaking your jest on that 
very sorrow itself, — making it the theme and butt, as it were, of your 
merriment. 

As to you, I do not hear man, woman or child whisper the faintest 
susurration, (or susurrate the faintest whispei", as the case may be, as 
our form-books sagely tell us,) of a doubt of your being confirmed. 
Not meaning that our form-books tell us of a doubt, — for that would 
be to disregard the parenthesis, through mere wantonness and levity 
of head, than which there cannot be a greater misfortune to a Judge, 
except, indeed, the plumbosity of the same member, (if, indeed, it be 
a member,) (as I should suppose it not only was, but also the head 
and chief of members) — lo ! I am lost : — but to come back to you as 
the rallying point. 

Cabell says there is no more doubt of your confirmation than 

chalk 's like cheese, or than any thing in the world. So, you see 

you are safe enough. 

I shall call at Pope's as I go down, about the 20th ; see whether 
the definitive treaty is signed ; examine the site, and give you my 
opinion, gratis. 

Now, this puts me in mind of myself, again ; for why should I wish 
to be going from Richmond, when you are coming so near it ? Ay, 
why should I ? What is there in the rough, unbuilt, hot and desolate 
hills of Washington, or in its winter rains, mud, turbulence and 
wrangling, that could compensate me for all those pure pleasures of 
the heart I should lose in such a vicinity ? No, — since we have spent 
our youth and manhood together thus far, my wish is to go down the 
hill, " hand in hand, and sleep together at its foot." How natural 
was Pope's dying sentiment to his situation, " There is nothing in life 
that is worth a thought, but friendship ? " We both know that there 
is another sentiment of still greater value ; yet they are both requisite 
to the harmony of the piece : love is the tenor of life's music, and 
friendship its bass. So, I will stay at Richmond. 

As at present' advised, I think that Dallas, if he would accept, 
ought to have the appointment. J. T. Blason, I am told, would not. 
Pinkney, we conjecture here, will receive it, if it should be vacated. 
I know but little of him ; he had the reputation, when I was at school, 
of being the most eloquent young lawyer in Maryland. His foreign 
service, especially at this particular juncture of our foreign afifairs, 
might make him a useful member of the Cabinet. 

I cannot help thinking that there is something little, in this notion 
of appointing the highest officers in the Union, by consideration of 



Chap. XIX.] THE ATTORNEY-GENERALSHIP. 289 

place. It may do in appointing tide-waiters and raail-carriers ; but 
yvere I a President, and forming a Cabinet who were to assist me 
in sustaining my vast responsibility, I would be no more governed by 
residence, than I would by the colour of a man's hair. Cczleris pari- 
htis, I would, indeed, regard it : — but I would, first, be very sure that 
the CcBleris were paribus. I give you this as an abstract principle, 
and not as one which would at all contribute to my promotion. As 
to myself, I hope you will believe me siucei'e when I tell you, that I 
should think "Walter Jones a preferable selection. I say not this as 
soliciting a compliment from you, my friend — for I know your partial- 
ity; — but because I am in earnest, and because I wish to repel an 
inference of which I was shocked to find my remark, on the other 
side, susceptible — that the principle of choosing by superior capacity 
would lead to my appointment. This is an awkward scrape I have 
got myself into, so I will get out of it as fast as I can. 

* * -x- * * # 

I wish to Heaven I could have gone over with Cabell, but I had a 
mountain of business to prepare for the fall campaigns. 

The Old Bachelor, you see, suffers by my engagements. I have 
not had time, or the temper, since the summer vacation commenced, 
to please even myself, much less others, by an essay. 

****** 

Mrs. C. and the Judge join in affectionate remembrances. 

God bless you. 

Wm. Wirt, 

It is scarcely necessary to remind the reader that Mr. Pinkney suc- 
ceeded to the Attorney-Generalship in December of this year, and 
that Wii-t's accession to this post was only deferred until the succeed 
ing administration at Washington found occasion for his services. 

Passing from these topics, the reader will be pleased with the 
glimpse, which the next letter affords, into the privacy of domestic 
life, and the affectionate solicitude with which the subject of our 
memoir devoted himself to the educatioh of his children. His eldest 
daughter, Laura, was now eight years of age. He has alread<7 marked 
out her coui-se of study ; and his aim is to awaken her mind to a 
perception of the value of the discipline he inculcates. To that end, 
this letter is addressed to her, in language of such plain and simple 
structure — almost in words of single syllables — as may reach the 
comprehension of a child, but, at the same time, wrought with 
admirable skill into a moral lesson of exquisite beauty. 

Vol. I.— 25 t 



290 LETTER TO HIS DAUGHTER. [1811. 

There is nothing amongst Mr. Wirt's productions more pleasantly 
characteristic of himself than this letter to his child. 



TO LAURA H. WIRT. 

Richmond, September 13, 1811. 
My dear Laura : 

I wonld have answered your letter sooner, but that my courts and 
my clients hardly leave me time to write to your dear mother, to 
whom, of all other earthly creatures, you and I owe our first duties. 
But I have not loved you the less for not writing to you : on the con- 
trary, I have been thinking of you with the greatest affection, and 
praying for you on my bended knees, night and morning, humbly 
begging of God that he would bless you with health and "happiness, 
and make you an ornament to your sex, and a blessing to your parents. 
But we must not be like the man that prayed to Hercules to help his 
wagon out of the mud, and was too lazy to try to help himself : — no, 
we must be thoughtful ; try our very best to learn our books, and to 
be good ; and then, if we call upon our Father in heaven, he will 
help us. I am very glad your Latin grammar is becoming easier to 
you. It will be more and more so, the more you give your whole 
mind to it. God has been very kind in blessing you with a sound 
understanding ; and it would be sinful in you to neglect such a great 
blessing, and suffer your mind to go to ruin, instead of improving it 
by study, and making it beautiful, as well as useful, to yourself and 
others. It would be almost as bad as it would be for Uncle Cabell 
to be so lazy himself, and to suffer his labourers to be so lazy, as to 
let his rich low grounds run up all in weeds, instead of corn, and so 
have no bread to give his family, and let them all starve and die. 
Now your mind is as rich as Uncle Cabell's low grounds; and all that 
your mother and father ask of you, is, that you will not be so idle as 
to let it run to weeds; but that you will be industrious and studious, 
and so your mind will bring a fine crop of fruits and flowers. 

Suppose there was a nest full of beautiful young birds, so young 
that they could not fly and help themselves, and they were opening 
tJK'ir little mouths, and crying for something to eat and drink, and 
their parents would not bring them any thing, but were to let them 
cry on from morning till night, till they starved and died, would not 
they be very wicked parents ? Now, your mind is this nest full of 
beautiful little singing-birds; much more beautiful and melodious 
tlian any canary-birds in the world ; and there sits fancy, and reason, 
and memory, and judgment, — all with their little heads thrust for- 
ward out of the nest, and crying as hard as they can for something 
ir eat and drink. "Will you not love your fother and mother for 
trying to feed them with books and learning, the only kind of meat 



Chap. XIX.] PROPER MENTAL CULTURE. 291 

and drink they love, and without which those sweet little songsters 
must, iu a few years, hang their heads and die ? Nay, will you not 
do your very best to help your father and mother to feed them, that 
they may grow up, get a full suit of fine glossy feathers, and cheer 
the house with their songs ? And, moreover, would it not be very 
wrong to feed some of them only, and let the rest starve.? You are 
very fond, when you get a new story-book, of running through it as 
fast as you can, just fur the sake of knowing what happened to this 
one, and that one ; in doing this, you are only feeding one of the four 
birds I have mentioned, — that is, fancy, which, to be sure, is the 
loudest singer among them, and will please j'ou most while you are 
young. But, while you are thus feeding and stuffing fancy, — reason, 
memory and judgment are starving ; and yet, by-and-bye, you will 
think their notes much softer and sweeter than those of fancy, 
although not so loud, and wild, and varied. Therefore, you ought to 
feed those other birds, too : they eat a great deal slower than fancy : 
they require the grains to be pounded in a mortar before they can 
get au3' food from them ; that is, when you read a pretty story, you 
must not gallop over it as fast as j'ou can, just to learn what hap- 
pened ; but you must stop every now and tl»>en, and consider why one 
of the persons you are reading of is so much beloved, and another so 
much hated. This sort of consideration pounds the grains in a mor- 
tar, and feeds reason and judgment. Then you must determine that 
you will not forget that story, but that you will try to remember 
every part of it, that you may shape your own conduct by it, — doing 
those good actions which the story has told you will make people 
love you, and avoiding those evil ones which you find will make them 
hate you. This is feeding memory and judgment both at once. 
Memory, too, is remarkably fond of a tit-bit of Latin grammar; and, 
though the food is hard to come at, yet the sweet little bird must not 
starve. The rest of them could do nothing without her ; for, if she 
was to die, they would never sing again, — at least not sweetly. 

Your affectionate father, 

Wm. Wirt. 

"We have seen that, almost from the first moments of Mr. Jeffer- 
son's acquaintance with Mr. Wirt, a friendly intercourse had grown 
Tip between them, which had gradually ripened into the most cordial 
esteem and confidence. It was this sentiment, on the part of Mr. 
Jefferson, which led him to employ his young friend in the prosecu- 
tion of Burr. He subsequently engaged him as his private counsel 
in various mattei-s which required legal advice. After his retirement 
from the presidency, he had more than once been annoyed by suits 
which were more properly the care of the Government, but in which 



292 THE BATTURE CASE. [1811. |Ci 

attempts were made to hold him responsible, in his own person, for 
acts done in the course of his public administration. Of this cha- 
racter was the suit brought against him, in 1810, by Mr. Edward 
Livingston, which was now pending for trial, in the Circuit Court of 
the United States, at Ptichmond. This case is well known to the 
legal profession as the Batture case, which, in its progress, occupied 
a considerable share of the public attention ; and, not confined to the 
courts, produced a very learned and elaborate controversy between the 
two distinguished parties to the cause. 

New Orleans was the theatre of the great excitement to which 
the incidents belonging to this controversy had given rise. The new 
beach formed by the deposits of the Mississippi, upon every annual 
flood, had been claimed by the proprietors of the adjacent bank, as 
legal accretions to their own possessions. Mr. Livingston being one 
of these proprietors of valuable lots in the city, had asserted his claim, 
in 1806 and "1, to new soil coming within this description of increase 
by alluvion. He had done this to the discontent of many persons in 
New Orleans, who apprehended, from certain works constructed by 
him upon the beach, — or batture, as it was called, — serious injury to 
the harbour. The intervention of the General Government was de- 
manded in the matter, upon the ground that the beaches and beds of 
rivers were under its special protection. Great exasperation prevailed 
in the city against Mr. Livingston. Riots were threatened; and the 
grand jury had presented the new structure on the beach as a nui- 
sance. In response to the application to the government, Mr. Jef- 
ferson had directed the labourers in the employ of Mr. Livingston to 
be driven off the ground, which order was finally enforced by a posse 
comifalus. This was done in opposition to the judgment of a local 
Court, which had decreed in favour of Mr. Livingston. 

The consequence of these proceedings was, as has been already 
stated, a suit against Mr. Jefferson for a trespass. Mr. Wirt, Mr. 
Hay, and J^.Ir. Tazewell, were employed as his counsel, and were fur- 
nished with full notes of the merits of the controversy. The case, 
however, never reached a discussion of the merits of the chief ques- 
tions between the parties. It was dismissed after argument, — Mr. 
Wickham appearing for the plaintiff, — upon the opinion of Judges 
Marshall and Tucker, that the Court in Virginia could not take cog- 



Crap. XIX.] LETTER FROM MR. JEFFERSON. 293 

nizance of a trespass committed on lands in Louisiana. This sudden 
termination of the case seemed to be equally unsatisfactory to both 
parties, who had made such ample preparation for the main battle aa 
not willingly to be reconciled to give it up. The controversy was 
therefore resumed with pen and ink ; and a vast amount of learning, 
seasoned by a due admixture of sarcasm, wit and invective, was lav- 
ished upon the subject, very much to the edification of contentious 
riparian possessors and claimants of alluvial deposits forever here- 
after. 

Contemporaneous with this proceeding, we have a correspondence 
between Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Wirt, upon a subject of more general 
interest, as connected with the political history of the past. The 
lapse of thirty-seven years has stript this correspondence of its private 
and confidential character, and may now be opened to the public with- 
out any apprehension of unfriendly comment. 

Duane, the editor of the Aurora in Philadelphia, who had been a 
most eff'ective supporter of Mr. Jeflferson's administration, had lost 
much ground with the republican party, by his assault upon Mr. Madi- 
son and Mr. Gallatin, during the presidential canvass in which the 
former of these gentlemen had succeeded to the Chief Magistracy. 
The consequence of this imprudence, was a sensible diminution of the 
means to sustain his paper. The government "organ," in those days, 
had not that secret mine of treasure which the experience of our time 
has found in the patronage of the ruling party. Duane was in dis- 
tress, and needed additional support. In this strait he applied to Mr. 
JeiFerson, in the hope that, by his recommendation, the subscription 
list of the Aurora would be enlarged, and the republican party be 
induced to contribute what might be found necessary. How this 
application fared, will be seen in the extracts from the few letters to 
which I have referred. 

FROM MR. JEFFERSON TO MR. WIRT. 

Mo.NTicELLO, March 30, 1811 
Dear Sir : 

Mr. Dabney Carr has written to you on the situation of the editor 
of the Aurora, and our desire to support him. 

This paper has unquestionably rendered incalculable services to 
republicanism through all its struggles with the federalists; and has 
25* 



294 CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. JEFFERSON. [1811. 

been the rallying point for the orthodoxy of the whole Union. It 
was our comfort in the gloomiest clays, and is still performing the office 
of a watchful sentinel. We should be ungrateful to desert him, and 
unfaithful to our own interests to lose him. Still, I am sensible, and 
I hope others are so too, that one of his late attacks is as unfounded, 
as it is injurious to the republican cause. I mean that on Mr Galla- 
tin, than whom there is no truer man, and who, after the President, 
is the ark of our safety. 

I have thought it material that the editor should understand that 
that attack has no part in the motives for what we may do for him : 
that we do not, thereby, make ourselves partisans against Mr. Galla- 
tin ; but while we differ from him on that subject, we retain a just 
sense of all his other services, and will not be wanting as far as we 
can aid him. 

For this purpose I have written him' the enclosed answer to his letter, 
which, I send for your perusal, on supposition that you concur in the 
sentiment, and would be unwilling he should misconstrue the service 
you may be able to render him, as an encouragement to proceed in 
the mischievous undertaking of writing down Mr. Gallatin. Be so 
good as to return the paper when read ; and to be assured of my sin- 
cere and constant attachment and respect. 

Thomas Jefferson. 

TO THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

Richmond, April 10, 1811. 
Dear Sir : 

I have your favours by the last mail, and will attend to them with 
much pleasure. 

If any thing could be done for Colonel D. here, it would be by 
showing the copy of your letter to him. I shall retain it for another 
mail, tliat I may receive your directions as to making use of it or not. 
You may rely upon it that D.'s name has no magic in it here. He is 
considered as the foe of Mr. Madison ; and the republicans here have 
no sympathy with any man who carries opposition colours, whether 
federalist, quid or tertium quid. 

The distinction which you made between the past fidelity and pre- 
sent aberration of the Aurora, is just, liberal and magnanimous; and 
the sentiment might, perhaps, be spread by the contagion of your let- 
tei'. I have made one experiment, to-day, without it. The answer 
was, that D. could not want friends, since his alliance with the S s. 

By the next mail, I shall have satisfied myself conclusively as to 
the possibility of my doing any thing without the aid of yom: letter. 
With respectful aftection, 

Your friend and servant, 

Wm, Wirt. 



Chap. XIX.] CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. JEFFERSON. 295 

TO THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

Richmond, April 17, 1611. 
Dear Sir : 

* * •«■ * * * 

The copy of your letter to J)., has been shown to one person 

only 

''' "■■' * "With the use of that letter, soino- 

thiug important might be done for D., in spite of the adverse spirit, 
or, at least, distrust which the factious and equivocal character of his 
paper has lately excited — equivocal in relation to Mr. Madison. But 
his three or four last papers contain such insulting paragraphs in re- 
lation to Mr. Madison, that I think it very dubious whether even 
your letter would not be too late, had I been permitted to show it. 

The paper is regarded, now, as an opposition one. In what other 
light can it be regai'ded, when it exhibits the President as being so 
perfectly the tool of Mr. Gallatin, as to have descended from the 
ground of a gentleman in relation to Mr. S., and played him "a shabby 
Genevan trick?" 

Can charity or magnanimity require us longer to adhere to this 
man ? Can he consider it as persecution to desert him, after he has 
abandoned his cause, the people and the President, and has begun to 
strain every nerve to bring them into contempt ? I think he has for 
some time required a lesson on the subject of modesty, which the people 
will now give. 

;ic :{: ^ :ts H< * Jjs 

Every gentleman who mentions this subject in my hearing, speaks 
with the warmest resentment against D. Believe me, it is impossible 
to do any thing for him here now; and any further attempt would 
only disable me from rendering any service to the cause hereafter. 
It is the impracticability of serving him produced by his own con- 
duct, as well as the violation I feel it would be of my sentiments for 
Mr. Madison, that> prevent me from proceeding. * * * 

I return, herewith, the copy of Mr. D.'s letter to you, and yours to 
him ; and beg you to be assured of my respectful and affectionate 
devotion. 

Wm. Wirt. 

THOMAS JEFFERSON TO WILLIAM WIRT. 

MoNTicELLO, May 3, 1811. 
Dear Sir : 

The interest you were so kind as to take, at my request, in the 
case of Duane, and the communication to you of my first letter to 



296 CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. JEFFERSON. [1811. 

iiiio, entitle you to a communication of the second, whicli will pro- 
bably be the last. I have ventured to quote your letter in it, without 
giving your name, and even softening some of its expressions respectr 
ing him. It is possible Duane may be reclaimed as to Mr. Madison — 
but, as to j\Ir. Grallatin, I despair of it. That enmity took its rise 
from a suspicion that Mr. Gallatin interested himself in the election 
of their governor, against the views of Duane and his friends. I do 
not believe Mr. Gallatin meddled in.it. I was in conversation with him 
nearly every day during the contest, and I never heard him express 
any bias in the case. The ostensible grounds of the attack on Mr. 
Gallatin, are all either false or futile. 



But they say he was hostile to me. This is false. I was indebted 
to nobody for more cordial aid than to Mr. Gallatin ; nor could any 
man more solicitously interest himself in behalf of another than 
he did of myself. His conversations with Erskine are objected as 
meddling out of his department. Why then do they not object to 
Mr. Smith's with Rose ? The whole nearly of that negotiation, as 
far as it was transacted verbally, was by Mr. Smith. The business 
was in this way explained informally; and, on understandings thus 
obtained, Mr. Madison and mj'self shaped our formal proceedings. In 
fact, the harmony among us was so perfect, that whatever instrument 
appeared most likely to effect the object was always used without jeal- 
ousy. Mr. Smith happened to catch Mr. Rose's favour and confi- 
dence at once. We perceived that Rose would open himself more 
frankly to him than to IMr. Madison, and we, therefore, made him the 
medium of obtaining an understanding of Mr. Rose. 

■Mr, Gallatin's support of the Bank has, I believe, been disapproved 
by many. He was not in Congress when that was established, and, 
therefore, had never committed hiniself publicly on the constitution- 
ality of that institution, nor do I recollect ever to have heard him 
declare himself on it. I know he derived immense convenience from 
it, because they gave the eifect of ubiquity to his money wherever 
deposited. Money in New Orleans or Maine was; at his command 
and b}' their agency, transformed in an instant into money in London, 
in Paris, Amsterdam or Canton. He was therefore cordial to the 
J^ank. I often pressed him to divide the public deposits among all 
the respectable banks, being indignant myself at the open hostility 
of that institution to a government on whose treasures they were fat- 
tening. But his repugnance to it prevented my persisting. And, if 
he was in favour of the Bank — what is the amount of that crime or 
error in which he had a majority, save one, in each House of Con- 
gress as participators ? Yet, on these facts endeavours are made to 
drive from the administration the ablest man, except the President, 
who ever was i)i it, and to beat down the President himself, because 



Chap. XX.] THE WAR. 297 

he is unwilling to part with so able a counsellor. I believe Duane 
to bo a very honest man, and sincerely republican ; but his passions 
are stronger than his prudence, and his personal as well as general an- 
tipathies render him very intolerant. These traits lead him astray, and 
rcijuire his readers — even those who value him for his steady support 
of the republican cause, to be on their guard against his occasional 
aberrations. He is eager for war against England, — hence his abuse 
of the two last Congresses. But the people wish for peace. The 
re-election of the same men proves it ; and, indeed, war against Bed- 
lam would be just as rational as against Europe, in its present condi- 
tion of total demoralization. When peace becomes more losing than 
war, we may prefer the latter on principles of pecuniary calculation. 
But for us to attempt a war to reform all Europe, and bring them 
back to principles of morality and a respect for equal rights of nations, 
would show us to be only maniacs of another character. We should, 
indeed, have the merit of the good intentions, as well as the folly, of 

the hero of La Mancha, But I am getting beyond the object 

of my letter, and will, therefore, here close it, with assurances of my 
great esteem and respect. 

Th. Jefferson. 



CHAPTER XX. 

1812 — 1813. 

THE WAR. — ITS EXCITEMENTS. WIRT DECLINES A COMMISSION 

IN THE ARMY. — VOLUNTEER SOLDIERY. — LIFE OF HENRY. 

BURNING OF THE RICHMOND THEATRE. GOVERNOR SMITH. 

CARR APPOINTED CHANCELLOR, AND REMOVES TO WINCHESTER. 

LETTERS TO HIM. W. ATTEMPTS TO WRITE A COMEDY. 

JUDGE tucker's OPINION OF THE INFLUENCE OP SUCH LITE- 
RATURE ON PROFESSIONAL CHARACTER. DIFFICULTY OP COME- 
DY. PROFESSIONAL DIGNITY. RICHMOND BAR. ANECDOTE OP 

A TRIAL BETWEEN WICKHAM AND HAY. EPIGRAM. WARDEN. 

LETTER TO CARR. TIRED OF THE OLD BACHELOR. BIOGRA- 
PHY. — LETTER FROM JUDGE TUCKER ON THIS SUBJECT. INCI- 
DENTS OF THE V7AR. BRITISH ASCEND TO CITY POINT. WIRT 

RAISES A CORPS OP FLYING ARTILLERY. LETTER TO MRS. W. 

— TO DABNEY CARR. — GILMER A STUDENT OP LAW. — LETTER 
OF ADVICE TO HIM. 

We have now approached a period of great public concern — the 
war of 1812. They who remember the interest which the events of 



298 THE WAR. [1812—1813. 

that period excited, will not need to bo told that it pervaded every 
portion of the country, and furnished an absorbing topic for every 
social circle. Along the Atlantic border, this interest was increased 
by continual alarms produced by the enemy, whose squadrons hovered 
upon the coast, and not unfrequently made descents upon exposed or ■ 
unprotected points. Although the Canada frontier was the scene of 
the severest conflicts, and was therefore brought to realize the worst 
extremes of war, there was still enough of threatened and actual colli- 
sion upon the bays and rivers of the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico, 
to keep all that region in a state of anxious outlook and busy prepara- 
tion. The blockade of this coast, in general loosely and inadequately 
maintained, was rigidly enforced at two points, by the presence of 
ships of war in the Delaware and Chesapeake. The cities of Phila- 
delphia, Baltimore, Norfolk and Richmond were thus admonished of 
impending danger, and were consequently ever upon the alert. The 
frigate Constellation lay at Norfolk, and more than one effort was 
made by Admiral Warren to effect her capture. One of these efforts, 
in June, 1813, was the assault of Craney Island, where the British 
forces were defeated by the Virginia militia, aided by the seamen of 
the Constellation, under the command of Captain Tarbell. The 
village of Hampton was afterwards attacked by the British and taken, 
and the most disgraceful barbarities practised upon the inhabitants ; 
barbarities which were the more atrocious, as they were directed, in 
some notable cases, against women, who were forced to submit to the 
most shocking outrages from a licentious soldiery. The particulars 
of this execrable violation of the rules of civilized warfare are yet fresh 
in the memory of that region, and obtained, at the time, a prominent 
notoriety amongst the most revolting events of the war. 

It may be imagined that such incidents aroused a universal feeling 
of anxiety everywhere over tlie district within the supposed reach of 
the power of the squadron, and kept the people of the country in a 
constant state of feverish expectation of the probability of fresh en- 
counters. The militia of the interior were always prepared for a sum- 
mons to the coast; volunteer companies were everywhere formed ; and 
the stir and show and apparatus of war became the most familiar ob- 
jects to all classes of the population. 

With all the disquietude and uneasy apprehension which belongea 



Chap. XX.] EXCITEMENTS. 299 

to such a state of things, there was also a certain degree of intense 
and pleasant excitement, which was greatly relished by the younger 
and more enterprising portions of the community. The preparations 
for camp life, and the occasional experience of it ; the expectation of 
actual service which was ever present to those selected for duty ; the 
military array seen in every town ; the music, the banners, the daily 
parade, the rapid muster and equipment of men ; the frequent march- 
ing of detachments to threatened points ; the pei-formance of garrison 
duty; the brotherhood and companionship of military life; its adven- 
tures, its stories, its comic as well as serious incidents ; all this, under 
the pleasant skies of a mild season of the year, without the discomforts 
and sufferings of a severe campaign, — not far from home, and conse- 
quently within the reach of abundant food and shelter, — gave a kind 
of sunshiny holiday attraction tathe period, which, as I have remarked, 
rendered the war, to the great mass of those who were most familiar 
with these scenes, rather a pleasant change from the monotony of or- 
dinary quiet life. 

Richmond was one of the centres of this excitement ; near enough 
to be threatened with invasion, yet sufficiently remote to be guarded 
against sudden surprise. During the two years of the war, therefore, 
she may be said, with some exceptions, to have found, in the agitation 
of the public events, an agreeable supply of novelty to feed that appe- 
tite for news, which was scarcely less characteristic of the gossiping 
Athenians in the days of Pericles, than of our own people in the time 
to which I have referred ; — which, indeed, has suffered no abatement 
since. 

Wirt was, at this time, at the head of his profession, enjoying a full 
share of its employments and emoluments. The war was now at his 
door. The military ardour of 1807, which was strong enough then 
to take him, if occasion offered, to Canada, was now somewhat tem- 
pered by the monitions of professional and domestic duties. The idea 
of the leo-ion was not revived ; Canada was committed to other hands ; 
and all those dreams of martial glory, which had once captivated his 
younger imagination, were sobered into a sensible resolve to do his 
duty at home, as a citizen soldier, when called upon, and to transfer 



300 WIRT DECLINES A COMMISSION. [1812-'1813. 



his aspirations after warlike renown to those whom fortune had not 
yet favoured with a better reputation. 

Some intimation was given to Mr. Madison by a friend, that Wirt 
would still accept a commission in the army. This led him to write 
to the President a letter, declining such an appointment, in which hei 
stated, that "however strong the desire to enter the service of the: 
country actively, the situation of his private affairs would not permit 
it. Circumstanced as he was, such a step would be a sacrifice, not! 
called for by the posture of the country, and wholly incompatible with 
his duties to his family." 

Thus renouncing a purpose which he had, a few years before, che- 
rished with so much zeal, he was now content to take his part in the 
scenes around him, in whatever manner he might be able to make 
himself useful. A portion of the British squadron had, at one time 
in 1813, ascended the James River as high as City Point, and thereby 
aroused the capital to a vivid apprehension of an attack. At this 
juncture, Wirt raised a corps of flying artillery, which, consisting of 
the choicest material of the country, was, under his command, brought 
into an excellent state of discipline and efficiency — alas ! without an 
opportunity (as we may say, without disparagement, it fortunately 
turned out) to demonstrate their own or their leader's prowess before 
the enemy. Richmond survived the many attacks which were threat- 
ened without being made ; and was favoured with the most satisfac- 
tory opportunities, short of bloodshed, to ennce her patriotism and 
public spirit. Thus be it ever, in all future wars ! 

The valour of our volunteer soldiery, which has latterly worked 
such miracles upon the bloody fields of Mexico, was not less confided 
in in the war of 1812, though exposed at that time to a much severer 
probation, before the veteran soldiers of Wellington. That the ex- 
ploits of the volunteers of that day were not so brilliant as those of 
the latter period, we may attribute not less to ,the character of the 
army itself, than to that of the enemy each has had to encounter. 
The levies of 1812 were gathered from the general mass of the popu- 
lation, more actuated by the common sense of duty in the crisis, than 
by any predilection for military adventure. They included, therefore, j i 
citizens of all ranks and pursuits, taken from the very midst of their 



L 



Chap. XX.] VOLUNTEER SOLDIERY. 301 

families and business, with all the dependencies and concerns of do- 
mestic life yet strongly soliciting their care and protection. They re- 
paired to the field, not from choice so much as from a sense of emi- 
nent necessity, exacting the temporary sacrifice of their time and ser- 
vice. The Yolunteers of Mexico, on the contrary, were the picked 
men of the nation, who, devoting themselves to a service more than a 
thousand miles from home, went to it under the strong impulse of 
adventure and love of martial life. They consisted of the young, the 
ardent and the brave, who, for the time, renounced all domestic pur- 
suits, and marched to the field, animated by the hope of distinction, 
and disenthralled from all civil cares and encrafrements. Thus fortified 
by resolve, stimulated by love of the profession, cheered by loud ac- 
clamations of friends, unimpeded by domestic solicitude, and filled 
with the ardour and courage of the national character, they more re- 
semble the chivalry which, a few centuries ago, assembled around 
Gronsalvo de Cordova, or Gaston de Fois, in their descents upon the 
fields of Italy, than they do any army of modern times. The skill, 
concert, impetuous valour and persevering labour of their assaults, 
will be the theme of commendation from military critics in centuries 
to come ; whilst the brilliancy of their victories over such dispropor- 
tioned numbers, and the rapidity of their conquest of the strongholds 
of Mexico, will be regarded as the marvels of the age in which they 
were achieved. 

The contests of the regular army on the Canada frontier, in the war 
of 1812, will suffer nothing in the comparison with those of the latter 
period. The laurels won by the youthful general at Chippewa and 
Lundy's Lane, will retain a verdure as fresh as those v/hich the same 
chief has plucked in his elder day, upon the plains of Mexico. 

Wirt's professional engagements had now so multiplied upon his 
hands as nearly to engross all his time ; and the reputation following 
his success seems to have so far gratified his ambition, as in a great 
degree to suspend his literary projects, or, at least, to restrict them to 
few and desultory efforts. The Old Bachelor, the greater part of 
which had been completed in the year 1811, slumbered through all 
the following year, and, after a slight endeavour towards a revival, 
was finally disposed of in 1813. The Life of Patrick Henry, tro, was 
Vol. 1. — 26 



! 



802 LIFE OF HENRY. [1812—1813. 

found to be an enterprise of less promise than at first it seemed. "We 
shall have occasion hereafter to notice the embarrassments of this 
tusk, and how weary the author became of it. 

In a letter from Mr. Jefferson to him upon this subject, the former 
expresses a difficulty in regard to the collection and the publication of 
facts respecting Henry, which Wirt had already felt. In answer to 
this letter, Wirt remarks: "I despair of the subject. It has been 
continually sinking under me. The truth, perhaps, cannot be pru- 
dently published by me during my life. I propose, at present, to pre- 
pare it, and leave the manuscript with my family. I still think it a 
useful subject, and one which may be advantageously wrought, not 
only into lessons on eloquence, but on the superiority of solid and 
practical parts over the transient and gaudy show of occasion. I wish 
only it had been convenient to you to enable me to illustrate and 
adorn my theme by a short portrait of Mr. Henry's most prominent 
competitors." 

I may notice here, as some reference to the event will be made in 
the course of this narrative, that Richmond had, in the last week of 
the year 1811 — the day after Christmas — been visited by a calamity 
of overwhelming horror, in the burning of the Theatre, during a per- 
formance which had attracted to the house an unusual crowd of the 
most cherished members of the society of the city. Between sixty 
and a hundred persons were burnt up in the conflagration. Amongst 
these were the Governor of the State, George W. Smith, Mr. Vena- 
ble, the President of the Bank of Virginia, Mr. Botts, the gentleman 
whom we have seen engaged as one of the counsel of Burr ; the wife 
of this gentleman and his niece, with many other ladies most en- 
deared to the conamunity of Richmond — young and aged — were also 
whelmed in this awful catastrophe. Richmond was shrouded in 
mourning, with scarce a family in it that had not suffered some be- 
reavement. So melancholy a disaster, we may suppose, would leave 
Its traces upon the character of the city for many years. It was long 
before Richmond resumed that cheerful and careless tone of social 
enjoyment for which it was previously distinguished.* 

• I find a manuscript reference to this sad event, amongst the papers of 
Mr. Wirt, in which he has detailed some of the particulars attending the 



Chap. XX.] CARR APPOINTED CHA^CELLOR. 303 

The ensuing letters unfold some interesting particulars of personal 
history, making occasional references to the incidents of the war, and 
presenting some few evidences of the literary aspirations, rather than 
labours, of the writer. They furnish, besides, agreeable pictures of 
the contentment and cheerfulness, which attend a prosperous life. 

The nomination of Judge Carr to the Bench, by the Governor and 
Council, required the ratification of the Legislature. In this proceed 
ing, in the session of 1812, an opposition was got up against thc-Judge 
suificicutly strong to defeat him. During the year in which he had 
served on the Bench, it was universally admitted that entire satis- 
faction was given to the public — that, in fact, the office was admin- 
istered with distinguished ability. The opposition is said to have 
arisen out of objections of a purely local character, which touched 
what was supposed to be the claims of other persons. It is said, that 
acknowledging the Judge's merits, and with a special purpose to retain 
him in the Judiciary, the Legislature created a new Chancery district, 
of which Winchester was the seat of justice, and bestowed the ap- 
pointment to it upon him. This appointment he promptly accepted. 
It compelled him to change his residence from Charlottesville to Win- 
chester. The change seems to have gone hard with him for some 
time. To one of his genial temper and love of domestic associations, 
such a breaking vip of settled habits and separation from familiar 
faces, was rather a severe tax upon his aifections. This will explain 
the occasion of the next letter. 



death of the Governor. I extract a few passages: — "On the fatal night 
of his death," sa3^s this record, "he had tal;en his wife and one of his sons, 
about nine or ten years okl, to the play. At tiie cry of fire he led Mrs. 
Smith into the box lobby; and recollecting that he had left his little son 
beliinil in the box, he told her to remain there until he stepped baclj for tho 
boy. It was her wish to do so, but the pressure of the crowd bore her 
away. Wlien the Governor returned, his wife was not to be seen. He 
hastened down with the boy, and liaving placed him in safety on the out- 
side of the door, returned, it is supposed, to look for his wife. In the mean- 
time, she, after having been pressed to and fro by the waving motion of the 
multitude, was fortunately driven near a window, just at tlie time when the 
word was given to 'break down the windows" — and through this, by a leap 
of twelve or fifteen feet, she made her escape without other injury than a 
sprained ankle and the bruises which she received from the pressure of 
the crowd. Her husband, unable to find her, perished in tlie generous ana 
pious pursuit.'' 



304 LETTER TO CARR. [1812—1813. 

TO JUDGE CARR 

Montevideo, Buckingham Co., Nov. 12, 1812. 
My dear Friend : 

5i; 5]: * * * :!: ■'.< 

Cabell and myself went clown at the beginning of the month to 
attend the Court of Appeals, where, among a large packet of other ' 
letters, I found your afiecting favour from Winchester, which I read 
to him. As I had been all the summer absent from Richmond, and 
had then but a few days to stay with the Qourt of Appeals, for whom 
I had also to prepare my statements, &c., I could find no time to an- 
swer you from that city : — to atone for it, I seize the first hour of com- 
posure here, to commune with you. 

I need not tell you that I enter fully into your situation and feel- 
ings ; yet I, who have been torn so often from neighbourhoods and 
friends, and forced to make new settlements among strangers, should 
not have felt the change on my own account, so acutely. I know, 
experimentally, that the first pangs, on these occasions, are all that 
we have to endure. Nature soon accommodates us to every change. 
A soft and not unpleasing melancholy, from a remembrance of the 
past, now and then recurs in the pauses of business and social inter- 
course ; but from circumstances and situations apparently the most un- 
promising and hopeless, the great vis medicatrix nalurca enables us 
to extract not merely consolation, but amusement and happiness. 
We become acquainted with new characters, whose oddities divert us ; 
whose intellectual adroitness and resources interest and instruct us ; 
whose amiable qualities and kind ofiers warm and attach our hearts. 
A difference of manners may keep us asunder for a time, like the 
negative and positive electricity of bodies diiferently charged ; but in- 
tercourse produces an assimilation, and instead of repelling, we begin 
mutually to attract ; or if we neither acquire the manners of those 
among whom we live, nor communicate our own to them, yet their 
peculiarities soon become so familiar to us, that we are not conscious 
of them, but look at once through them to the heart and mind of the 
person. 

****** 

Now, why can we not piit a little philosophical force upon our- 
selves, and anticipate at once those results which we are sure nature 
will ultimately bring about? By this course, we shall avoid the 
painful interval between the first repugnance, and the accommodation 
of habit. For example, if, giving way to this repugnance, we hold 
off, shy and aloof, we shall beget equal shyness on the other hand, 
and the interval of indifference may be a very long one, — if it does 
not end in a fixed and mutual aversion. If, on the other hand, 
in instances in which established character, or our own judgment of 



Chap. XX.] LETTERS TO CARR. 305 

the indi\"idual waiTants it, wg at once break through our prejudices 
and force a familiarity and intimacy, we generate those same (][ualitie3 
in strangers towards ourselves, who have also their prejudices against 
us to vanquish, and thus, like Scott's stag, " at one brave bound the 
copse we clear," &c. &c., — " which &.C., hath much learning in it." 

Why may you not form new friendships there ? I must be candid 
enough to tell you, that I feel some jealousy at this suggestion, my- 
self, and do not want you to love any new friend quite so well as I 
hope you do mc, and as I certainly do you. It is my magnanimity, 
therefore, or the nobler side of my friendship, that suggests this con- 
solation to you for those friends from whom you have been separated. 
Against these suggestions, you may urge the common opinion that 
ardent friendship cannot be formed at your advanced slate of life. 
To be sure, / cannot reason on this point experimcnlaUy — " you nmst 
go to some one older than me." But then, I am informed by books, 
of men nearly as old as yourself, who have formed the warmest friend- 
ships : for example, there was Walsh, who at the age of seventy, con- 
tracted a most vehement friendship for Alexander Pope, then only 
sixteen years of age, which lasted through life, that is, through 
Walsh's life. And Pope himself, when sixty, contracted a similar 
friendship for Warburton. Examples might be easily multiplied to 
show the physical possibility of such friendship. I have, myself, 
formed the most sincere and disinterested friendship for at least two 
men, old enough to treble ray years ; and I am convinced that I shall 
have for Frank Gilmer, (who you know is a member of my fivmily 
now,) as warm a friendship as if he were my brother. 

This disparity of age seems to be necessary to bring about that 
equality which in some way or other, must be the basis of friendship. 
Where equality of years is wanting, the partnership must be rendered 
equal in some other way. Yov instance, one brings youth and genius 
into the fund ; the other, age and character. Perhaps a better, though 
a less artificial solution of it is, that the one or the other must be in- 
experienced and credulous ; the other, conscious of his own purity. 

Two old men do not form these friendships : reciprocally aware of 
the fallacious exterior of characters, they cannot trust each other. 

■?:- -A- ->r ->r -X- «■ 

Fortunately for you, the tooth-ache has stopped this lecture. 
-:<• -x- •«■ -X- * * 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

Carr did not receive this letter until it was brought to him enclosed 
in the following : 

2G* U 



306 LETTER TO JUDGE CARR. [18J2— 1813. 



TO JUDGE CARR. 

Richmond, March 31, 1813. 

Very well, sir; — consume* and abuse me as much as you please. 
Throw my letter away, and say that I have delayed writing till all 
the grace of the act is gone ; that, now you have become acquainted 
in AVinchester and happy in your new acquaintance, so as no longer 
to require the cheering letters of your old friends, I, for the first time, 
begin to write ; that, when you wished me to write, I would not ; and 
that when you no longer wish me to write, or care for my writing, I 
pester you with my letters ; that I have played by you, as a friend, 
pretty much such a part as Johnson says Chesterfield played by him 
as a patron : " Is not a patron, my lord, one who sees his client strug- 
gling in water above his depth, without going to his relief; and when 
he has reached the shore, incumbers him with his needless assistance ?" 
This is the thought, — I pretend not to quote his words. Well ; have 
you got cool ? Now read the enclosed, which I do assure you was 
written when and where it professes. You sec, then, how well in- 
clined I was, to have done my duty promptly towards you; * 
* * * * the necessity of my hurrying down to 
Richmond, where the Federal Court and the Court of Appeals were 
sitting together, — the manner in which I have been kept under the 
lash, by the Court of Appeals, until about ten days ago, — the circum- 
stance of my being in the nineteenth regiment, which has been called 
on duty and placed on the war establishment, — not having been dis- 
charged until last Saturday, — and the anxieties generated by the 
vicinity of the British; the uncertainty of their plans, and the de- 
fenceless condition of the State, have, in succession, held me "in 
durance vile,'' unharmonising me for that sweet correspondence with 
you which I so much enjoy, in peace and ease. Come, come; let 
your choler give way ; let your crest fall ; let the angry blood in your 
cheeks retire ; let your cheeks, themselves, subside ; and do not look 
quite so much like Jupiter Tonans, when he " injlaf ambas huccas." 
So, so. Now we are as we were, and I will mend ni}' pen. You 
know the Scotchman, under similar circumstances, cried " halt a little, 
while I tnk' a wee pickle o' sneeshing." 

Sir John Borlase Warren, certainly mollller manua imj>osuil, for 
which I thank him. The more fool he, the more fortunate we. He 
might, with the three thousand marines, which he is said to be able 
to detach from his ships without weakening their defence too much, 
have ]>attered and burnt down our cities of Norfolk and Richmond, 

* Tliere are several references ih the letters to this phrase of Carr's, which 
seems to have been the limit to which his kind nature would allow him to 
go, in the way of imprecation. 



Chap. XX.] WRITES A COMEDY. 307 

have plundered our banks and dcmoliriheJ our armory and the archives 
of the nation. He has waited so long, that now we do not fear him ; 
while we, by no means, feel ourselves so secure tus to lay aside our 
caution. 

* * * * * -X- * 

The Old Bachelor is in the bookbinder's hands, at Baltimore, and 
is waiting only for a few additional numbers, which I have not yet 
hud time to scribble; so that, you see, we are likely " to float together 
doirn the gutter of time," as Sterne says. 

Did you never see two or three iohacco-icorms swept along by the 
little torrent produced by a sudden shower of rain? — swept along,' 
with all their treasures, and crawling out, half drowned, twenty or 
thirty yards below? Shall our book have a longer race, or we a 
more honourable catastrophe ? 

Now, sir, your private ear. I have a sentimental drama (7a comcdie 
lai'moyanle,) nearly finished, which will be quite finished this spring, 
or early in the summer. I think tolerably well of it. Green and 
Twaits, who saw three acts of it in the crude, fii'st draught, augured 
favourably of it. Judge Tucker, the only other person who has seen 
it, declared himself highly gratified by the perusal. 

The players are anxious to get it from me. I had promised to give 
it, when finished, to Green's daughter, who, poor girl, perished in the 
theatre. But, before it leaves my possession, I am determined to 
submit it, when completed, to you, and to be decided by your judg- 
ment entirely as to its fate, because I know you love me too well 
either to flatter or spare me, where my character for authorship is 
concerned. 

I Avant to know your opinion now, whether, if the work itself be 
good, the circumstance of its being a play is likely to do me any 
injury with the world, either as a man of business or as a man pre- 
tending to any dignity of character ? On this point, I am dubious. 
For example ; — how would it act on the character of such men as 
Jefierson, or jMadison, or Monroe, or Marshall, or Tazewell, to have 
it known of them that they had been engaged in so light and idle a 
business as writing a play ? "Will you weigh this question thoroughly ? 
At one moment, I think it would let them down ; at another, that it 
would give spirit and relief to the greatness of their characters ; that 
is, supposing the play to have been a very good one. 

Talking of authorship, what if I do hold my head high ? " Tut — 
a boy ! — ^Poh, a boy ! — pshaw, a mere boy !" So no more. 

Our love to you all. 

Wm. Wirt. 

We have not Judge Carr's answer to the cpestions propounded iu 
the last clause of this letter; but, from the correspondence with 



308 LETTER FROM JUDGE TUCKER. [1812—1813. 

Judge Tucker, to whom the same questions seem to have been ad- 
dressed — (the letter of Wirt to him has not been preserved) — I am 
enabled to present my reader with a reply quite worthy of preserva- 
tion : 

" You ask," says the Judge, " how far a discovery that you have 
entered the dramatic lists may affect your professional character. 
Belles-lettres and the Muses have been too little cultivated in Am&- 
rica, or cultivated with too little success by their votaries to enable us 
to judge. Trumbull, the author of McFingal, was, I think, a lawyer. 
That poem rather raised the opinion of his talents. It is entitled, in 
my opinion, to the first place in estimating the American talent for 
poetry. Dwight's ' Conquest of Canaan ' seems to have advanced 
him, in his own quarter of the Union, at least. He was young when 
he wrote it, and he now fills the papal chair of taste and erudition, as 
well as genius and religion, in New England. Humphreys, the aid 
of Washington, ventured to display his poetical talent, almost as soon 
as the war was ended. His pieces were well received ; and he has 
been a foreign minister, or something of the sort. Barlow has come 
forth in epic poetry, borrowing from Tasso, Milton, and the author of 
The Lusiad. His character, I think, has not been advanced by it; 
yet, we now see him as an Envoy abroad. Should he fail in his em- 
bassy, I shall not be surprised to hear it said, it might have been 
predicted from his poem. Burke was too little known and too little 
reputed for his Bethlehem Gabor (I believe that was the name of his 
play,) either to raise or lower him. These are all the instances that 
occur to me where the Muses have been wooed in America by persons 
of any professional standing. My own apprehension is, that a taste 
for the belles-lettres, including, under that description, dramatic poetry 
as well as all others, is very low in America generally. That even 
though any such production should please for the moment, or continue 
to please a little longer than a moment, it does not constitute any 
thing cstiiiia])l(' in the public eye, nor advance the author in the 
public estimation, hut may have the contrary effect. To apply this 
to a mau of any profession, if the author be a person who has inspired 
an exalted opinion of his talents, and the poem be given to the world 
in such a manner as to appear merely as a jeu d' esprit, the effusion 
of a leisure moment, and without any view to profit or emolument, or 



Chap. XX.] THE COMEDY. 309 

as an offering at the shrine of party, — I think, in such a case, the 
public would regard it favourably, and as an evidence of a variety of 
genius and talent capable of embellishment beyond the professional 
■walk. If there be nothing in the composition itself below the stand- 
ard of the previous public opinion of the author's talents, it will be 
not only well received, but will advance him in the general estimation 
as a man of happy genius. Such a man will, like Sheridan, win the 
approbation of those who have taste to admire ; and those who want 
it, will pretend to admire. He, therefore, runs but little risk." 

These are the opinions of a competent critic in 1812. We may 
smile at the sober earnestness of the question and the gravity of 
the answer. That this should be even a moot point at that day, 
would seem to argue that, as yet, there was no literary public in 
the United States; at least, no adequate appreciation of literary 
talent. That Dr. Johnson might write a tragedy, or Canning delight 
in witty doggrel, and not lose caste in church or state, we may infer, 
was a problem to excite the special wonder of the anxious literary 
adventurers of the generation of 1812. We have seen that Wirt was 
not to be baulked in the career of his humour by these doubts ; for 
he had already perpetrated some glaring enormities in prose, and was 
now actually meditating a comedy. This comedy, which it appears 
he was some two years at work upon, still survives amongst his manu- 
scripts. I find various approbatory comments upon it in the letters 
of his friends at this period, — especially in those from Judge Tucker. 
It was called " The Path of Pleasure," but was never published nor 
played, — from a secret consciousness, I would infer, in the writer, that 
it might not safely pass the ordeal of public judgment. Wirt was a 
better critic than his friends ; and most likely, upon deliberate review, 
after the fervour of composition had subsided, came to a determina- 
tion not to incur the hazard of that disapproval which, in the matter 
of a theatrical exhibition, is proverbially the most painful of all to 
which an author can be exposed. Whatever ground there may be to 
question how far professional success may be able to stand with the 
repute of elegant scholarship, there can be little room for debate upon 
the point that no professional man may very safely commit his repu- 
tation to the ordeal of facing the authorship of a play that has been 
damned. I dn not say that this would have been the fate of the Path 



310 DRAMATIC LITERATURE. [1S12— 1813. 

of Pleasure, if it had been submitted to the trial ; but public judg- 
ment is very uncertain, and Wirt himself does not seem to have had 
confidence enough in his production to be willing to challenge a sen- 
tence. Dramatic writing is, of all literary composition, the most dif- 
ficult, and a good comedy is the highest product in this art. "We have 
a dozen respectable tragedies for one comedy of the same grade. To 
paint character by dialogue, with the requisite brevity, wit, and adap- 
tation to the story, which comedy requires ; to avoid exaggeration and 
caricature, on one hand, and tame, insipid portraiture on the other ; to 
invent a plot whch shall have the requisite variety of incident to give 
it interest, and yet to evolve it without obscurity or confusion, and to 
carry it along in the conversation and action to which the stage limits 
the author, require a kind and degree of talent which is, by no means, 
necessarily, nor even ordinarily, associated with the powers of the most 
accomplished writers or speakers. Even poets, and the most skilful 
novelists, — those who have been most conspicuous for the force, nature 
and vivacity of their dialogue, — have failed to produce good comedy. 
Moore and Scott are signal illustrations of this fact, and we might add 
many others well known to the reader. Whilst it is equally capable 
of proof that the best dramatic writers, and especially in the depart- 
ment of comedy, have attained to no remarkable distinction in what 
we might suppose to be the cognate and congenial departments of 
literature. 

That Wirt was restrained by no false notion of dignity from this 
essay in the dramatic field, we may well believe from all that we have 
seen of his character. That the public was, at that day, absurdly 
prejudiced upon this question of the gravity and decorum of profes- 
sional life, is probable enough. It has been often remarked by foreign- 
ers, that in all externals, at least, ours are a grave and even a satur- 
nine people : that there is a certain amount of make-believe and con- 
strained show of what is considered the propriety of j^lace and voca- 
tion, apparent in the deportment of our people, — giving to them a 
thoughtful and reserved demeanour in society, very unlike the free 
and careless undress of social life in Europe. A secretary of state or 
a counsellor at law may hardly play at leap-frog^ with us, without find- 
ing hands and eyes upturned at such tomfoolery, and some severe com- 
ments touching dignity and its concomitants ; whilst European society 



Chap. XX.] GOOD-FELLOWSHIP OF RICHMOND. 311 

•would scarce think it worth a comment, except in the waj of kindly 
ilhistnition of the jocund temper which not even the cares of state or 
the hard study of legal quiddities could subdue. Curran at the head 
of the Monks of the Screw, and Jeffreys fomenting the waggeries of 
the Scotch bar, or Napoleon playing a part in private theatricals, are 
not even yet quite within the conception of the American public and 
its notions of "dignity." Still less so was it in 1812. 

Piichmond, perhaps, is entitled to be regarded as less affected by 
this national quality than most other portions of the country. The 
community of that city have been rather femous for good-fellowship, 
and, — what may be said in their commendation, — of a very fair tole- 
ration of the eccentricities which belong to the practical exemplifica- 
tion of the adage, "dulce est desipere in loco." The memories of 
their private associations, 'and especially at the bar, are rich with good 
stories and exhibitions of honhommie that have provoked many a laugh 
without either impairing the "dignity" of the actors, or incurring the 
rebuke of the rigidly-proper, who there, as well as elsewhere, have 
found their abode. Amongst these memories, the present generation 
recount, with an affectionate particularity, the many gambols of the 
late Chief Justice — one of the best men of the age — and his cronies 
and associates of the famed Quoit Club, in which it seems to have 
been a fundamental canon that the oldest and gravest were to submit 
to a temporary rejuvenation, which was often manifested in the display 
of the prankishness of boys. 

^Virt was not behind his compeers in this temper. I have seen 
some letters addressed to him as "^Df loving "Wirt," which appella- 
tion by no means belied the hilarity of his nature. There were many 
outbreaks of this temper at the bar, which are yet pleasantly recalled 
by the fraternity. One of them we have in an anecdote on hand. 

Wickham and Hay were trying a cause in the Court at Piichmond. 
Wickham was exceedingly ingenious, subtle, quick in argument, and 
always on the alert to take and keep the advantage by all logical arts. 
Hay was not remarkable for guarding all points, and was sometimes 
easily caught in a dilemma. Wickham had, on this occasion, reduced 
him to the choice of an alternative in which either side was equally 
fatal to him. "The gentleman," said he, "may take which ever 
horn he pleases." Hay was perplexed, and the bar amused. Ho 



312 MR. WARDEN. [1812—1813. 

was apt to get out of temper and make battle on such occasions, and 
sometimes indulge in sharp and testy expressions — showing himself a 
little dangerous. A knowledge of this characteristic added to the 
sport of the occasion. Jilr. Warden, one of the most learned, witty 
and popular members of this bar, — familiarly known to them as Jock 
Warden, — for he was a Scotchman, and then an old man, — remarked 
in a quiet way, '' Take care of him, he has hay upon his horn I" 
Wirt sitting b}", with full appreciation of this classical witticism, 
forthwith hitched it into verse in the following epigram : 

Wicklmm was tossing Hay in court 
On a dilemma's horns for sport, 
JocIj, ricli in wit and Latin too, 
Cries, " Habet fffinum in cornu." 

The tradition of the bar still preserves this jeu cPesprit, in memory 
of that palmy day of social brotherhood which was, in a thousand 
other forms, cherished and embellished by Wirt and Warden,* 

*Tl)is gentleman, ]\Tr. John Warden, is still affectionately remembered at 
the Richmond bar. He was a man of high accomplishment in general 
literature and science, as well as in his profession. He had collected a fine 
library of rare and valuable books, which, being pvit up at sale after his 
death, wore eagerly sought after and purcliased. He was said to be the 
most homely man, both in face and figure, to be found in the society with 
which he lived, and his speech was marked by a broad Scotch accent. 

During the Revolutionary War, he was once summoned before the House 
of Delegates of Virginia, to make atonement for some disloyal, — or, perhaps, 
too loyal, for that, I believe, was his offence, — words uttered by him, which 
had given umbrage to that body. It was the custom, then, in the Virginia 
Legislature, to exact of offenders against their dignity, an apology to be 
made, kneeling at the bar of the House. It is difficult now to believe that 
a custom so absurd and slavish, as well as so degrading to the Legislature 
itself, should have been tolerated in any of the American States, at so late 
a period as that of the Declaration of Independence, especially after the 
reproof it had received in the British Parliament in 1751, in the case of 
Alexander Murray, and the abolition of it by that body. Still, it was yet iii 
force in Virginia. Mr. Warden was obliged to comply, which he did with 
an ill grace: — "I humbly beg pardon,'' he said, in his broadest Doric, "of 
this honourable House: — and a domned dirty house it is,'' he added, as he 
rose slowly and awkwardly, with a surly look, and brushed the dust from 
his. icnees. 

He was once relating to a circle of friends the gratification he had enjoyed, 
at a ball in Richmond, in the society of a beautiful woman, a distinguished 
belle of that time. In attempting to describe her attractions of face and 
figure, and her graceful r.ess of motion, he concluded a vivid portraiture 
which he had drawn, by an attempt at personal illustration which was too 



Chap. XX.] LETTER TO CARR. 313 

Wiclvham and Hay and their comrades, who gave a distinctive tone 
to the society of Richmond, and rendered it, at that day, one of the 
most attractive cities in the Union. 

I have said that the Old Bachelor was not finished until 1R13. 
An interval of eighteen months had passed between the publication 
of the greater portion of these essays and the last few numbers. The 
author was getting tired of it, and found a more pleasant occupation 
in other subjects. He adverts to this in his next letter. 



TO JUDGE CARR. 

Richmond, April 30, 1813. 
Friend of my Youth : 

* * -}f * * * -x- 

I admit the justice of your charge as to my scribbling capriciousness, 
and yet I know that Jinis coronal opus, too. But as the Old Bachelor, 
ihere was no finis naturally growing out of the scheme. It was end- 
ess ; each essay being a whole in itself. — I am dispirited, too, by the 
ittle eftcct such things produce. I did not begin that business for 
■ame. I wrote in the hope of doing good, but my essays dropped 
into the world like stones pitched into a mill-pond ; a little report 
"rom the first plunge ; a ring or two rolling off from the spot ; then, 
in a moment, all smooth and silent as before, and no visible change 
in the waters to mark that such thing's had ever been. 

"Writing on, under such circumstances, was, I confess, a dragging, 
heavy, nauseous work ; and, unless a man write con amore, he cannot 
:lo it well. As to doing it doggedly, I should hold myself a dog to 
io it, — ^yea, a very turn-spit. But, as Ritchie desires it, and has gone 
to some expense about the bauble, I will turn the spit for five or six 
evolutions more, and then bid the Old Bachelor adieu until I see 
low the volume takes. If it has a mn, I shall have the more spirit 
-.0 work off another volume, and complete something like a moral and 
iterary scheme, — a whole ; — but thereafter as it may be. 

As to the novus hospes, the larmoyanle, alias weeper, you have 
jessed right, in part ; but I began that in the view of adapting the 
eharacters to the company that was here. One was for Greene, one 

udicrous to be forgotten. He assumed what he intended to be a gentle 
ind winning expression of countenance, and then, with a sidelong glance 
)f the eye, threw his ungainly figure into an attitude designed to convey 
he idea of perfect elegance and grace, and said, " to give you some co.» 
leption of her gataire and her manner, she looked just so!" The echo of 
lie laugh that followed this grave effort at representation, has not entirely 
lied away yet. 

~ Vol. i. — 27 



314 THE COMEDY. [1S12— 1813. 

for his wife, one for Twaits, one for Mrs. Clark, and so on. But 
when that company was dispersed by the destruction of the theatre, 
and finally dissolved by their subsequent miscarriages in Charleston, I 
had the less inclination to carry it on, for I knew that the various 
parts required the peculiar powers of those for whom they were 
drawn ; and, not knowing into whose hands they might fall, nor, of 
course, how they might be marred and the author damned, I was in 
no hurry to purchase such a catastrophe. But Judge Tucker, to 
whom I showed, in confidence, the acts that were finished, has put 
up my courage, and I expect to close the afiiiir before the spring is 
closed. 

I shall expose it to you in the perfect confidence that you will not 
let me expose myself by making it public, if you see that there is 
danger in it ; and I now begin to fear tliere is, for I wished to consult 
Frank Gilmer on some incidents which I thought of introducing, and, 
to qualify him to judge, gave him the acts that were finished to read. 
This was about a week ago. He reads a piece of a scene at a sitting, 
and puts it away to take up a review or a newspaper, or something 
else of equal importance : all which is, to me, strong proof that there 
is but little interest in the afflxir. I do not think very highly of it 
myself There are parts of it that please me; but the scenes are not 
connected with lightness and grace, and in the toule ensemble, I fear 
it is rather ponderous; but of all this you shall judge, and if you 
barely call it tolerable, I know the rest, and shall abandon it without 
a blush or a murmur. I am sure that that kind of composition 
requires not only peculiar talent, but an intimate knowledge of the 
stage, and a training in dramatic authorship particularly. 

"Produce you a comedy equal to Sheridan's !" A pretty requisi- 
tion, truly ! Sheridan's ! One of the first, if not the very fii'st 
comedy in the English language ! And the work, too, of a man 
whose genius is almost unrivalled in the old world, much more in the 
new! None of your fun, — "none of your comments, Mr. Carr !" 
You had better require me, next, to produce such speeches as Erskine's 
and Curran's, or such legal investigation as IMtmsfield's and Hard- 
wicke's, or such tragedies as Shakspearc's, or such histories as Ro- 
bertson's. No, sir ! The affiiir being homespun, would, I thought, 
pass very well, in these patriotic times, without equalling the European 
manufacture. 

I know that it is superior to some English plays of which it is 

said, in the British theatre, that they were acted at Drury Lane or 

Covent Garden, as the case may be, with unbounded applause ; but 

as to its equalling the best of them, the brat has no such pretensions. 

* * * * * * 

Your wife's displeasure at my not writing, I resent (as Boyle says) 
with the liveliest gratitude, and I am sincerely obliged to you for 
loading her to think me of so much consequence. 



CiiAr. XX.] THE BrOGRAPHY OF HENRY. 315 

This is a poor return for your long kind letter ; but you are good- 
natured, and nuist therefore expect to be imposed on. 
We all join in love to you. 

Your ever affectionate friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

The scheme of writing biography was yet kept alive, as a project 
of future accomplishment. That scheme, as the reader is aware, em- 
braced the purpose of a series of lives of the most eminent Virginians. 
It ultimately resulted in the production of the volume containing the 
biography of Henry. The rest of the plan was abandoned. The 
motives which Jed to this restriction of the scheme, are most pro- 
bably those which are suggested in the following letter of Judge 
Tucker, whom Wirt had frequently consulted on the subject. The 
Judge, as we have remarked, was a man of letters, of extensive read- 
ing and observation, and one who had had many opportunities to be- 
come acquainted with the principal personages embraced in the bio- 
graphical scheme. The letter of Wirt to him upon this occasion, I 
have not seen. It is probable it was not preserved. But this reply 
to it, contains some just remarks upon the difficulties belonging to the 
task in view, and which were doubtless felt by Wirt, in the further 
contemplation of this scheme, to an extent which induced the abandon- 
ment of his purpose. 

ST. GEORGE TUCKER TO WM. WIRT. 

Williamsburg, April 4, 1813. 
Mv DEAR Sir : 

****** 

American biography, at least since the conclusion of the peace of 
1783, is a subject which promises as little entertainment as any other 
in the literary world. Our scene of action is so perfectly domestic, 
as to afford neither novelty nor variety. Even the biographer of 
Washington has been reproached with imposing upon his readers the 
history of a nation, instead of the life of an individual. Parson 
Weems has, indeed, tried to supply the defect ; but I never got fur- 
ther than half the first paragraph : — " George Washington, (says that 
most renowned biographer,) the illustrious founder of the American 

Nation, was the first son of Washington, by a second marriage : 

a circumstance, (says this profound divine, moralist and biogi-apher,) 
of itself sufficient to reconcile the scruples of tender consciences 
upon that subject." I do not pretend that I have given you a literal 



316 LETTER FROM JUDGE TUCKER. [1812—1813. 

transcript of the passage; but, I believe the substance is correct. II 
shut the book as soon as I had read it, and have no desire to see any 
more of it. 

This leads me to notice that part of your letter which relates to the 
subject of biography. How would you l^e able to give any entertain- 
ment to your readers, in the Life of Patrick Henry, without the aid !l 
of some of his speeches in the General Assembly, in Congress, in ( 
Convention, or in the Federal Court ? What interest could be ex- - 

cited by his marrying a IMiss , and afterwards a INIiss D ; ; 

and that somebody, whom I will not condescend to name, married one 
of his daughters, &c., &c., &c. No human being would feel the 
smallest interest in such a recital; and, I never heard any thiug of 
him, except as connected with the public, that could amuse, for a 
moment. The same may be said of Lee, Pendleton and Wythe ; and 
the same may be said of every other man, of real merit, in Virginia. 
They have all glided down the current of life so smoothly, (except as 
public men,) that nobody ever thought of noticing how they lived, or 
what they did; for, to live and act like gcnllemen, was a thing once 
so common in Virginia, that nobody thought of noticing it. 

It is clear to my apprehension, that unless a man has been distin- ; 
guished as an orator, or a soldier, and has left behind him either copies 
or notes of his speeches, or military exploits, that you can scarcely 
glean enough out of his private life, though he may have lived beyond 
his grand climacteric, to fill half a dozen pages, that any body would 
trouble themselves to read. 

I have known several characters, whose conduct, both in public and 
private life, I have esteemed models of human perfection and excel- 
lence : John Blair, General Thomas Nelson, John Page and Beverly 
Bandolph, were men of the most exalted and immaculate virtues. I 
knew them all well, nay, intimately ; yet, for the soul of me, I could 
not write ten pages of either, that would be read by one in fifty. 
Colonel Innes may be compared to an eagle in the air. You looked 
up at him with admiration and delight; but, as Solomon says, there 
are no traces of his exalted and majestic flight left behind. The only 
shadow of him that remains, is llobertson's abridgment of his speech 
in the Convention of Virginia, in 1788. That may be compared to 
the sparks which issue from a furnace, which is itself invisible". 

I think it much to be regretted, that such men as I have mentioned 
above should descend to the grave, and be forgotten as soon as the 
earth is thrown upon their coffins. But so it is, my friend. Literary 
ehai'acters may leave their works behind them, as memorials of what 
they were ; soldiers may obtain a niche in the temple of Fame, by 
some brilliant exploit; orators, whose speeches have been preserved, 
will be remembered through that medium ; judges, whose opinions 
have been rejwrted, may possibly be known to future judges and 
members of the bar ; but the world cares little about them • and if 



Cha?. XX.] BIOGRAPHICAL WRITING. 317 

tbey leave no reports, or meet with no reporter tO reeoru theii' opi- 
nions, &c., they sink into immediate oblivion. I very nnich doubt if 
a single speech of Richard H. Lee's can be produced at this day. 
Nevertheless, he was the most mellifluous orator that ever I listened 
to. Who knows any thing of Peyton llandolph, once the most popu- 
lar man in Virginia, Speaker of the House of Burgesses, and Presi- 
dent of Congress, from its first assembling to the day of his death ? 
Who remembers Thompson Mason, esteemed the first lawyer at the 
bar ? — or his brother, George Mason, of whom I have heard IMr. IMa- 
dison (the present President) say, that he possessed the greatest talents 
for debate of any man he had ever seen, or heard speak. What is 
known of Dabney Carr, but that he made the motion for appointing 
committees of correspondence in 1773 ? Virginia has produced few 
men of finer talents, as I have repeatedly heard. I might name a 
number of others, highly respected and influential men in their day. 
The delegates to the first Congress, in 1774, were Peyton Randolph, 
Edmund Pendleton, Patrick Hcnr}^ George Washington, Richard H. 
Lee, Richard Bland and Benjamin Harrison. Jefferson, Wythe and 
Madison did not come in till afterwards. This alone may show what 
estimation the former were held in : yet how little is known of one- 
half of them at this day ! The truth is, that Socrates himself would 
pass unnoticed and forgotten in Virginia, if he were not a public cha- 
racter, and some of his speeches preserved in a newspaper : the latter 
might keep his memory alive for a year or two, but not much longer. 
Instead of an attempt at what might be called a biographical ac- 
count of any of these persons, perhaps a delineation of their charac- 
ters only, with here and there a speech or an anecdote, might answer. 
But anecdotes which might entertain, occur so seldom in private life, 
in Virginia, that th^y may be truly said to be 

" Rari nantes in gurgite vasto." 

Upon the whole, I am inclined to think, biography in Virginia 
would at present be a hopeless undertaking, although a very interest- 
ing selection might be made of Virginia worthies, whose general cha- 
racters deserve to be remembered and transmitted to the latest pos- 
terity. But the misfortune is, that few remain among us who have 
known and marked the outlines which ought to be traced ; and still 
fewer are capable of giving the rudest sketch of them. I have re- 
peatedly wished that my talent lay that way ; but, I feel a thorough 
conviction that it does not. If we lived together, and in a daily in- 
tercourse, I could, perhaps, from time to time, recollect enough of 
such men as I have nTentioned, and some others, to enable you to 
draw an outline of each, which you might fill up at leisure, from your 
cvra resources or the communications of others. But were I to take 
up my pen for that purpose, I should only betray my own incora- 
j petency. 

27* 



318 ALARM AT RICHMOND. [1812—1813. 

You must be tired of this subject, from which I shall turn away to 
the "Path of Pleasure." I rejoice that you propose to resume it, 
and make little doubt you -will once more acquire laurels in it, — or, 
as a gamester would say — " ihroio doublets a second lime." To be 
serious, I trust you will resume it, pursue it ardently, and arrive at a 
speedy and happy conclusion and termination of it. When finished, 
I beg to be favoured with a sight of it as early as possible, and pledge 
myself to do my best for a prologue and, possibly, an epilogue too. 
But I must have the play, itself, with me at the time, to aid my 
imagination. 

* * * * » •«■ ^ 

Believe me ever, most warmly and most sincerely. 

Your friend, 

S. G. Tucker. 

We have now some pictures of the war — an alarm at Richmond, 
in this extract from a letter to Mrs. Wirt, who is at Montevideo. 



Richmond, June 29, 1813. 

I thank heaven, with heartfelt gratitude, that you have escaped the 
idle panic into which the city was thrown on yesterday about twelve 
o'clock. I was at the market-house, attending a common hall — when 
we were broken up by the violent ringing of the alarm-bell. The 
fii-st idea that bolted into my mind was, that our old castle was on 
fire ; — but before I had crossed the market-bridge, an alarm cannon 
was fired on the capitol hill — then another — and another. Here was 
the complete signal of invasion. The effect was such as you may con- 
ceive. The signal was perfectly understood ; — every man had to rush 
with his musket, to the square : — even the *' silver greys" [and parson 
Blair among them] flew to arms. The report ran that the British 
were at Rocket's — and we had heard from an authentic source, that 
they had disgraced themselves at Hampton, by excesses more atrocious 
and horrible than ever before befel a sacked town — of a nature so 
heart-sickening, that I do not choose to describe them to you : — they 
even excited the negroes to join them in these brutal excesses. What, 
think you, must have been the terrors and agonies of the women here, 
on the report that the same enemy was in their town ? Doctor 
Foushee applied to me for our carriage to take his daughters to Wil • 
liam Carter's, in Caroline comity, to which I cheerfully agreed. 
Wagons were moving furniture from all parts of the town ! — but I 
believe no ladies moved — for before they could prepare, the panic was 
dissipated. McR * * came rushing on the square with a pistol in 
each hand crying out, " where are they, where are they V to which 
the Governor answered, that they were at City Point; — and Mc 



Chap. XX.] THE FLYING ARTILLERY. 319 

disposed of his pistols as soon as he could. It turned out that the 
British had ascended the river as high as City Point, which is about 
ten miles below our works and army at Hood's, that they were slowly 
ascending the river ; — and the regiment tlius suddenly called, was dis- 
missed till six o'clock this evening. I thought it not imprudent to 
get all your plate together, and pack up my books for a travel, if 
another alarm should take place ; — which I did. But wo heard no 
more of the enemy until this morning, when we were informed, by an 
express, that they had gone back again. Amidst the alarm and un- 
certainty, however, the Governor and field-ofliecrs were clamorous 
and importunate for a company of flying artillery ; and I could not 
resist their importunities, without submitting myself to the censure 
of indifference at least. So, I raised a company for the defence of the 
town and neighbourhood — and a most splendid one it is, amounting 
to near a hundred picked men. Although convinced that we shall 
have nothing to do, this same company will prevent my seeing you 
for some weeks — for my company must be trained and made effective 
and fit for the field before I ought to leave them. 

* * * * * * * . 

Your affectionate husband, 

Wm. Wirt. 

TO JUDGE CARR. 

Montevideo, Buckingham Co., August 23, 1813. 
My de.\r Friend: 

Let us waste no time in apologies for not writing. It is enough 
for you to know that you have lived in my heart's core for- seventeen 
years, and that the roots by which you have taken hold of me, have 
become stronger with every year. 

As a friend, I am not conscious that you have any right to reproach 
me, except that I am an irregular, and if you please, a lazy corre- 
spondent. This is the single blot in my escnlcheon; and I am not 
very sure that you do not bear the same reproach, so that this is a new 
point of congeniality, and, of course,, of attraction. If those who 
have been mir-erable together, love each other the more on that ac- 
count, why not those who have been lazy together ? 

You would know what I have been doing this summer ? Why, 
reading newspapers, mustering in the militia, hearing alarm-bells and 
alarm-guns, and training a company of flying artillery, with whom, in 
imagination, I have already beaten and captured four or five different 
British detachments of two or three thousand each. "Silent legen 
inter arma" — silent miisce quoque — unless it be the muse of Tyrteeus, 
who, as Tom Divers says, is one of those cattle I don't suffer to speak 
to me. 



320 EXCITEMENTS OF THE WAR. [1812—1813.: 

Talking of Tyrtasus, I never saw his fragments till lately. They 
are most noble productions ; and supposing them to have been sung, 
accompanied by instrumental music, in an army marching to battle, li' 
believe firmly in the effects which history ascribes to them. The 
author of the Marseilles Hymn, I suspect, had read T}T.-ta;us. There 
is a great analogy in the spirit of the productions : the latter, I have 
no doubt, was suggested by the former. 

I wish you would get the minor poets, which you may do in Win- 
chester, I suppose, and read Tj-rtnsus. If your Greek is rusty, there 
is a Latin translation ; but in several of the most beautiful passages, 
it is defective, I think, so far as my little remaining Greek informs 
me. You will enjoy him, I predict, highly. 

You have heard all about our llichmond alarms — " the whole 
truth," as Pope's witness said, "and more, too.'' 

My wife and children were out of town. They were here ; but I 
was "in the thick of the throne;." There was nothing wantina; but 
comjjosure. We should have fought like lions ; but from the sudden- 
ness-and agitation of the alarm, it struck me that we should not fire 
well, at least for the fii-st two or three rounds. We beat om* fore- 
fathers, as militia. I mean no disrespect to them whom I so much 
revere, but the fact is so, and it is very easily accounted for consist- 
ently with their honour. 

We have breathed, for thirty years, the proud spirit of independence, 
and in this spirit we begin the war. They, on the contrary, were 
warring against the habit of subjection, and were fighting against 
some of the strongest tendencies of their own hearts in fighting against 
their king. They were crushed, too, by conscious poverty, and the 
almost entire destitution of all the means of war. We, on the con- 
trar}^, are rich, and armed cap a pie. No wonder, therefore, that we 
have more confidence, pride and courage. 

What do you think of young Croghan's defence of Lower San- 
dusky ! He is, by land, exactly what Decatm-, Lawrence, Hull and 
Baiubridge are at sea ; the very counterpart of their daring spirits. 
It is exactly the spirit which Bonaparte displayed at Lodi : and if 
Croghan's intellect equals his courage, it will only be the want of op- 
portunity which will stop him short of the summit of martial renown. 
* * «■ -x- * «■ . 

]My family are all here — in health and spirits. Laura is now writ- 
ing her Mair's exercise in my study, a room in the third story, about 
sixty feet from the ground, which opens on the mountains — where I 
teach my children, and sit and read, and write rarely. Writing 
requires a solitude and self-possession which my children will not 
aUow me. 

Laura is reading Virgil. You see I stick to my Latin system. I 
will try it with her, taking care to leave her time, between this and 
seventeen, for those accomplishments which she cannot do without. 



Chap. XX.] JUDGE CARR'S SUCCESS. 321 

Robert is delving away at Latin too. He is beginning to parse, 
which is a thing he hates as bad as Coalter's man did something 
else. 

]\Iy twins, — were you to see them playing together on a sheet spread 
on the floor, so healthy and so sweet. — don't talk, sir ! 

My wife is in uncommon health, but down-hearted because of the 
flying-artillery, which she considers a boyish freak, unfit for the father 
of sis unprovided children. 

Our love attend you all. 

Your friend, as ever, till death. 

Wm. Wirt. 



TO JUDGE CARR. 

Montevideo, October 2, 1813. 
My dear. Friend : 

Yours of the 19th ult. overtook me at this place. Agi^ed, — ^let 
us bury the hatchet for past omissions, and do as well as we can here- 
after. If we are a little idle or so at times, let it break no squares 
between us. We have known each other too long and too well, to 
grow suspicious and captious, and quarrel for straws of etiquette and 
punctilio. 

You say some eloquent things about Croghan and the navy. They 
are all just, and I echo every sentiment. God speed them ! which is 
as much as they can expect of you and I. Now let us talk of our 
noble selves — a very interesting subject, about which you have not 
said more than ten words. 

I hear that Lord Hardwicke, Lord Camden and Chancellor Brown, 
are in danger of a total eclipse ! That the decrees at Winchester and 
Clarksburg have all the rust of legal lore which antiquarians prize so 
hii^hly, together with the true Ciceronian flow and nitor. How is 
this ? Must Coke and Call,* Peere Williams and Billy AVilliams, 
llaymond and Mumford, all be thrown into the shade, obnubilated, 
obfuscated and ohruted for ever and ever! Must Blaekstone and 
Blackburn, Cicero and Shackelford, Mansfield and MagiU, be utterly 
forgotten, pompeized and herculancized for twenty centuries ! Forbid 
it, Mercuri facundCj — forbid it, Apollo, the nine muses and the seven 
senses ! Report me truly on this subject. 

Do you really mean to extinguish these comets, to tread out the 
constellations, lamp-black the milky way, quench the sun, and set the 
planets at blindman's-buff, that they may rise with unrivalled magni- 

* Call, Williams, Mumford, and others here referred to, were gentlemen 
of the Virginia bar, some of whom had published reports of the Virginia 
decisions; the others were counsel of note. 



322 THE COMEDY. [1812—1813 

ficcucc on ilic benighted universe ? Give us notice, sir, that we may 
take our measures accordingly. 

And this brings me to speak of the visit made you by Peter and 
Frfink. Woukl I had been with you ! What a time you must have 
had of it ! What three happy fellows ! No three happier in the 
world. To be sure, there have been four, here, not far behind you 
in this particular : for you are to know, that as I passed by Pope's 
last week, he formed a junction with my caravan, and we arrived at 
Montevideo on Saturday evening, in high health and spirits. Here, 
besides the ftimilies (Cabell's and mine), we found Frank Gilmer, and 
we had for four days and nights, what our blacks eloquently call " old 
laughing." 

Pope was in his glory — "fought all his battles o'er again," with 
triple lustre, '' and thrice he slew the slain." In fact, he M'as very 
near killing all thi-ee of us with laughter, and our wives and children 
to boot. 

He dined one day at Charles Yancey's, — a grave and orderly family. 
He dropped among them like an unknown waterfowl, and took the 
Major's mother, an old lady of seventy, so completely by surprise, 
that he laughed her into an epilepsy. Such a cure for the heart-ache 
never before existed. " A cure for the heart-ache," you know, is the 
name of a i^lay. 

Jipropos — this leads me to speak of mine. 1 tried the metal of 

the piece on when I was in Kichmond, and found that (to 

change the metaphor) every key produced the expected note. He 

cried, laughed, started and gaped with curiosity, just as I intended : 

so that if he is as good a criterion of the public taste as Molicre's old 

woman, the piece would certainly take. * * * 

If I find that I have the weather-gage of the public, I will give them 

an annual dose of good morals through this channel. 

****** 

We have just received the last Richmond papers. The British 
parliament prorogued : — no ministers to meet ours in Russia : — the 
American war to be pressed. Without a glorious camiDaign this 
summer by Bonaparte, and the conquest of Canada by us, we shall 
have no peace this year. ! for an American navy and American 

Generals ! 

******** 

But plague on politics and politicians ! say I. * * 

My wife unites with me in love to yourself and Mrs. Carr, and my 
children also send love to yours. My twins still shine with unrivalled 
lustre. 

May Heaven ever bless .and prosper you, and make you as illus- 
trious and happy as my soul wishes you. 

Cabell and Frank Gilmer send love piping hot. 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 



:nAP. XX.] LETTER TO GILMER. 323 

Francis Gilmer was, at this tinic, au inmate in Wirt's fomily, and 
issiduously pursuing the study of the law. I shall hereafter have an 
J2)portunity to offer several letters, written to the student by his 
Friend, in the way of advice upon his studies, which will commend 
themselves to the attention of all who strive to attain the honours of 
the profession to which these letters refer. The following is the first 
in this series : 

TO FRANCIS W. GILMER. 

Montevideo, November 16, 1813. 
My dear Francis : 

As, in the bustle of starting, I forgot to shake hands with you, I 
shall endeavour to offer some atonement for it by giving you the first 
letter. Had I not been perplexed by the multitude of petty concerns, 
to which it was necessary for me to attend, I wished to have had some 
particular conversation with you about the course of your studies ; and, 
more especially, the mode of studying Bacon. 

It was understood that you were not only to read all Bacon's 
references, but to add to them Dallas, Cranch, and the Virginia 
reporters. There are some British reporters since Gwillim's edition 
of Bacon that I have ; and as, instead of shrinking from labour, you 
love a task the more for being the more herculean, I would recommend 
it to you to embrace them in your scheme also. 

Whenever the head you are upon involves the subject of pleading, 
you ought to consult Chitty before you broach Bacon, and learn to 
draw the plea off-hand, at once. For example, — the first head in 
Bacon is ''Abatement :" The course which we propose is, first, to see 
what Blackstone says on that subject throughout, which you will easily 
do by the aid of his index. Consult Tucker's Blackstone, with the 
editor's notes, to see the changes superinduced by our state law. You 
will thus have gotten the chart of the coast, at least in outline, and 
know where you are ; next Chitty, — in his first volume you will see 
his learning on the plea of abatement. In his second, you will see 
the forms of the plea itself, which you must be able to draw before 
you lay him down. Thus prepared, you open Bacon, and having read 
him aiid his references on the subject, you turn to Bosanquet and 
Puller, East's Reports, Smith's Reports, Campbell's Reports, Sel- 
wyn's Nisi Prius, Espinasse's Reports, — Day's edition, — then the 
American and Virginia Reports. 

In my notes, I would follow Bacon's distribution of the head, and 
arrange the matter which I collect as he would have done, had he 
possessed it. 

When, for example, you find a case presenting a new principle,- ~ 



324 STUDY OF THE LAW. [1812—1813. 

say, on the subject of "Abatement," as what may be pleaded in 
abatement, — turn to that di\nsion of the head of '' Abatement" under 
which such matter properly comes, and insert the reference there : 
otherwise, all your own discoYcries will come en masse, at the end of 
the head in your note-book, and will be without distribution, order, 
or light. 

You must not read so long at a time, and with so little digestion as 
to make your head spin, as Lord Mansfield says, nor to fill it with 
confusion and ''aitches" (aches), as Kemble calls it. On the con- 
trary, take your time and see your course clearly; understand the 
whole ground as you go along, not only geographically, but topo- 
graphically ; keep your books and your route under your eye, as clearly 
as a general does his army and his line of march ; and, like a great 
general and concjueror, never quit any province you enter, without 
being able to say, this province is mine, and placing in it an invin- 
cible garrison. 

The general course is, to gallop over these provinces like travellers 
in a hurry, and having made one or two remarks, to take it for granted 
we know all about it, — as Weld, from a single example, pronounces 
" all the tavern-keepers in this state drunkards, and all their wives 
scolds." One student, too, as soon as he leaves one of these provinces, 
having contrived to make his own time very disagreeable in it, as well 
as very unprofitable, turns about at the boundary line, and making a 
very profound reverence, says, " I hope never to see you again ;" 
whereas, had he cultivated it properly, he might have made the 
gi-ounds so profitable and delightful, that it would have been grateful 
at a future day to return and review them. 

I am not one of those who believe in the declension of genius in 
these latter days. — I believe the paucity of great men, in all ages, 
has proceeded from the universality of indolence. Indolence is natural 
to man, and it is only the brave few who can " clear the copse at a 
bound," break over the magic bourne, and stretch away with *' an eye 
that never winks, and a wing that never tires," into new regions and 
new worlds ; who distinguish themselves from the crowcl, and rise to 
glory that never fades. What kind of men were Littleton, Coke, 
Bacon, &c. ? Think what habits of application they must have had, — 
what an insatiable appetite for knowledge ; not the morbid craving 
of a day or a week, but the persevering voracity of a long life. Such 
only are the fellows who climb so high up Fame's obelisk as to write 
their names where they may strike the eye of distant nations. The 
many of us who cannot bear the labour of climbing, stand on the 
groimd and stretch up as high as we can : and as this is a paltry 
business, that depends more on the longest legs and arms than the 

longest head, it turns out that 's name is legible as far as 's ; 

and in a very short time they will both be erased by the scrambling 
herd of their unaspiring successors, who will be as tall as they are, 



Chap. XXI.] CONTENTMENT 325 

and will claim their liour of notice, in a world of several leagues in 
cii'cuinforence. 

You have begun under the happiest auspices, — even set out with 
a stock of science and information which was not surpassed, I suspect, 
in the example of Mr. Jefferson, and not equalled in any other; I do 
not except Tazewell. Now, if you do not keep the advantage you 
have got, the fault is your own. You may get up among the eminent 
few, at the tojD of the obelisk, if you choose ; or, if you prefer it, 
expire among the ephemera at the base. For my own part, inde- 
pendent of the aflfection which makes me take an interest in you, I 
have a sort of philosophical curiosity to see what is attainable by man ; 
and I know of no young man so well gifted for the experiment as 
yourself. The cultivation of eloquence should go hand in hand with 
your legal studies. I would commit to memory and recite, a la mode 
de Gar rick, the finest parts of Shakspeare, to tune the voice, by cul- 
tivating all the varieties of its melody, to give the muscles of the face 
all their motion and expression, and to acquire an habitual ease and 
gracefulness of gesture and command of the stronger passions of the 
soul. I would recite my own compositions, and compose them for 
recitation ; I would address my recitations to trees and stones, and 
falling streams, if I could not get a living audience, and blush not 
even if I were caught at it. So much for this subject. 

* -» * * -x- * 

Your friend, 

"Wm. WmT. 



CHAPTER XXI. 
1814. 

CONTENTMENT. — PROSPEROUS CONDITION. — LETTERS TO CARR. — TO 
MR. LOMAX. — OPINION OF CICERO. — VIEWS OF THE WAR. — EX- 
TRAVAGANT OPINIONS. LETTER TO GILMER. CAMPAIGNING. 

INSUBORDINATION OP THE MILITIA. VISIT TO WASHINGTON. 

CONGRESS. UNFAVOURABLE ASPECT OF AFFAIRS. MADISON. 

WEBSTER. AVERSION TO PUBLIC LIFE. ENGAGEMENT IN THE 

SUPREME COURT. POSTPONED. 

Wirt's professional position was now securely established, on the 
same level with the most eminent men of the bar of Virginia. The 
most difficult and the most dangerous points in the path of his worldly 
career may be said to have been overcome. The content which 

Vol. I. — 28 



326 PROSPEROUS CONDITION. [1814. 

springs from certainty and safety in the affairs of life, was opening 
broadly upon Lis Louseliold. A numerous family of children was 
groTvdng up around him. His business was not only profitable, but it 
was also of a character which rendered it most agreeable to his am- 
bition, by the reputation it brought him,.«nd the scope it gave to a 
useful and honourable association with the more important individuals 
and concerns of the society in which he lived. A man becomes ag- 
grandized and strengthened in his place by such connections, as trees 
whose roots take firmer hold of the soil by the thousand new fibres of 
a healthful growth. 

The natural concomitant of this steady success was a placid and regu- 
lar life, from which we may not expect much material, just at this 
time, to give excitement to our narrative. It is in toiling up the steep 
of fame, that the casualties of human condition, and the adventures 
which belong to the strife of genius, afford the most animating topics 
of instruction. The height once gained, the votary's progress is apt 
to lose the interest of its previous doubtful and anxious struggles, in 
that period of repose and quiet enjoyment which generally follows suc- 
cessful endeavour as its appropriate reward. 

I do not mean to intimate that, at this juncture, the subject of our 
memoirs had attained a point at which his ambition found nothing 
further to covet, But he had gained a platform where he rejoiced in 
disenthralling himself of those misgivings, which we have seen him 
sometimes disposed to entertain, in the contemplation of his labours 
to secure an independent position for his family. He felt that his 
success was assured. He had earned, and was now enjoying, the re- 
spect of friends, the consideration of society, the reputation of useful 
and vigorous talent, and some little celebrity, besides, connected both 
with forensic and literary eminence. He had health, competence, 
many of the luxuries and elegancies of life. In short, he had a 
bright outlook upon the world, which, of itself, is one of the happiest 
conditions of humanity. Behind him, was the pleasant landscape of 
many rugged heights traversed and prosperously surmounted. Before 
him, were eminences rising to the clouds, but with gentler slope and 
easier way, lightened by a brighter sun, and freshened with a richer 
verdure. He had limb and nerve to climb them, with a heart as 
stout as at first. 



Ciur. XXT.] LETTER TO CARR. 327 

At this stage of liis progress, it is a pleasant duty to lay before my 
readers that little tissue of his private history, — the history of his 
thoughts and opinions, rather than of his doings, — which is to be 
gathered from the light-hearted letters of this time. They deal in 
small incidents, mostly of a domestic and personal nature, and shed a 
serene and agreeable light upon his own character, as well as upon 
that of his friends. 

" It is not the habit of my mind," he says, in a letter to Carr, 
about this time, " to repine at the past. On the contrary, I so far 
profit by it, as to make it the measure of the future. I look cheer- 
fully forward, and flatter myself I shall yet amass a handsome inde- 
pendence, turn farmer, and, on some fine seat, build a castle and a 
literary name. ' A castle in the air,' quoth you. Very probably. 
Yet the illusion is pleasing, and ' Hope,' you know, ' still travels 
through, nor quits us till we die.' For which companionable temper 
of hers, I most gratefully thank her Serene Highness, and bid her 
welcome to my fireside." 

'' TO JUDGE CARR. 

RicHMOfiD, February 1.5, 1814. 
My dear Friend : 

You have written me such a letter as I have not seen this many a 
day before. I have just been reading it all the way from the post 
office, from which it took me half an hour to walk, and I experienced, 
fQ reading it, some of the most delicious suffocations that ever touched 
me. I don't knew whether you have enough of the woman in you 
to understand this expression : if not, so much the better for you, 
according to Hume. Not that I doubt your sensibility. I know that 
well : but I don't know that it ever takes you by the throat. Your 
manhood might rebel at such a liberty ; and yet I have seen it make 
pretty free with yovir eyes. 

The truth is, that your praise gives me more pleasure than that of 
all the other men in "the world put together. I have had such long 
and intimate experience both of your candour and judgment : I know 
them both to be of the very first quality. You have had, too, such 
an opportunity of judging me as no other man alive has had; and 
•when I add to this the tenderness and sincerity of your friendship for 
me, you may well believe that I speak in the simplicity of my heart, 
■when I say that I would not exchange your good opinion of me, for 
that of all the great and little men of the nation. Nay, that I should 



328 AUTHORSHIP. [1814. 

find ample consolation and refuge in your esteem and affection from 
the desertion of all the world of men besides. 

It is in vain that conscience tells me I do not deserve what you say 
of me ; for immediately I retort on conscience as the sailor did on the 
man whom he was about to throw overboard, " do you know better 
than the doctor \" If I were very anxious to convince you of your 
error, I would tell you that I fear any one but a partial friend would 
smile at your recital of the evidences of my talents. The British 
Spy and the Old Bachelor ! " Against eight hundred ships in com- 
mission, we enter the lists with a three-shilling pamphlet," said John 
Randolph of Mr. IMadison's book on Neutral Eights ; — and too surely 
I fear that, weighed against the great and copious works of a man of 
genuine talents and resources, the poor little British Spy and the Old 
Bachelor would sink, (or, rather to keep up the metaphor of weighing, 
would rise) into equal contempt. To tell you the truth, I fancy my- 
self much such a fellow as a late Edinburg review describes Horace 
Walpole to have been ; — that is to say — as having begun life with a 
most ardent passion for literary fame of the noblest order, but having 
convinced himself, by two or three experiments, that nature had denied 
him the qualities which are essential to the composition of a great 
author, he took it out in gay and frivolous laughter at himself and all 
other literary pretenders ; and found that his talents were at home 
only in light-hearted raillery. Mine have been only short and sportive 
excursions, exceedingly light and desultory, and, I fear, exceedingly 
frothy and flashy. I have written no sustained work ; nothing which 
shows those masterly powers of investigation, of arrangement, of com- 
bination, of profound and great thinking, of the character of which 
I should be proud, and in which alone I should feel any satisfaction. 
Such a work as Robinson's Charles Vth, for example, or as Tacitus' 
Annals, or Plutarch's Lives, even, would content me. Is not this 
modest? By-the-bye, I don't think much of Plutarch's Lives, for 
the authorship. They owe their celebrity, I suspect, much more to 
the excellency of the materials than to the workmanship. He seems 
to me to reverse Ovid's mafericm auperahat opus, and is, in my humble 
opinion, very much of a dry, babbling, superstitious old woman. You 
see I am ofl' the track. Well — here I go. 

Talking of authorship, I shall send you by Magill to-day, George 
Hay's work on Expatriation. I want your opinion of it : not for 
Hay, but for myself. I will not tell you what we think of it here : 
I mesn we, your particular friends. I will only tell you that by men 
much greater than we pretend to be, it has been cracked up to the 
stars. Mr. Madison, it is said, has presented several copies of it in 
great triumph to Jeffries, the master i'e\'iewer at Edinburg. Inger- 
Boll, Duponceau, Rush and old John Adams, have eulogized it in the 
Htrongest terms. It is making a great noise amongst the political 
lilerali of the North, and is overshadowing its author with laurels. 



XuAV. XXL] NAPOLEON. 329 

Read it with attention. Weigh it. with your usual thought and care, 
and let uie have your conscientious opinion of it. 
- Now turn we to a much more interesting work, — your boy.* How 
much I am gratified by this incident, I will not, because I cannot, tell 
you. I learn, too, that it is no sudden freak to give him this name : 
tliat your girls have baulked the project many a time before. Had 
you any superstition, you would think that Providence thus interfered 
to give you time for consideration. But let ns not be given, like 
Father Siiandy, to too close reasoning on small matters. Let me tell 
you that Mrs. Carr's determination in this attair, is sweeter to me 
than the oil that was poured on Aaron's head. I love, honour, and 
you shall obey her. Tell her that the boy shall never have cause to 
blush for his name, so far as honour is concerned, unless, as you say, 
" the devil is in it — and then I shall never believe it till it happens." 
Slay heaven bless the boy, and make him a halo of glory around his 
pai'ents' heads ! It is, indeed, a dread responsibility which we fathers 
have. Yours is nothing. To act properly and exemplarily is natural 
to you. I give you no credit for it. Nature mingled your elements 
and gave j^our blood its current. To act wrong would just be as un- 
natural to you as to act right is to the greater part of the world. But 
w hat is to become of such a wayward, undisciplined rabble of spirits 
and habits as mine ; how am I to manage them so as to place a grave, 
reverend, and patriarchal example before my children ? I'll tell you 

what, sir — as old Mr. J used to say, " there's no more chance 

for me — no — no more than there is for the Pope of Home," — for 
whom, bj^-the-bye, according to the present posture of affairs in Europe, 
there seems to be a pretty good chance. 

Apropos — (very apropos indeed !) what think you of this reverse 
of Bonaparte's fortunes? ''Consuesse enim, Deos immortales, qiio 
gravius homines ex commutatione rerum doleant, quos, pro scelere 
eoruin ulcisci velint his secundiores interdum res et diuturniorem im- 
punitatem concedere." As for Napoleon, I care no more for him, in 
himself considered, than I do for any other tornado that is past. But 
will France, drained and exhausted, be able to make head against this 
northern hive, or will she share the fate of Poland ? I am curious to 
see the character of France in this new situation in which she is 
placed. How will she regard Bonaparte '^n eclipse? What will be 
tlio result to Europe of this recoiling flood of success? We live in 
an age of most wonderful events, but they are of a most stern and 
ferocious character. They have not the interest or magnificence of 
the Crusades : so much can sentiment do in these matters, and such 
a grace can chivalry and a generously mistaken Christianity shed upon 
a cause. 

* Carr had just named a son after his friend. The next lf;tter, it will be 
seen, was occasioned by the death of this boy. ~ 

2S* 



330 LIGHT LITERATURE. 



ri814. 



What effect will Napoleon's reverse have on us ? Some think that 

Britain will take, if not higher, at least more obstinate gi-ound against 

us on account of her triumphs. Others, again, think that having 

gotten the Emperor down, she will be anxious to devote all her 

powers to his annihilation, and therefore be the better inclined to 

have peace with us. My own opinion is that she has no notion of 

giving up any point in the quarrel ; that with the latter of those two 

views she may probably be inclined to a truce, and that she will then 

negotiate with us, if we will indulge her, till she has tried the issue 

of her arms on France ; but that in any event she will finally persist 

in the principles and practices against which we are at war. 

But what care we for politics — let us talk of our children. 
^ ***** * 

The Old Bachelor is not yet at hand. Kitchie announces that he 
is shortly expected. I will send you a copy by the earliest convey- 
ance. By-the-bye, quere, whether even compositions of this character 
are not calculated to produce the effect which your brother ascribed 
to play-writing ? I am afraid that both the Old Bachelor and the 
British Spy will be considered by the world as rather too light and 
hagatellish for a mind pretending either to stability or vigour. I re- 
collect no man of eminence, (I mean political eminence,) either in 
this or any other modern country, who has descended to such amuse- 
ments. To tell you the simple truth, politics never appeared to me 
to be a desirable field, or one for which I was fitted either by nature 
or habit; and, therefore, I have never squared my course by any 
such anticipation. But if you are in earnest in your prophecies about 
me, and in wishing also to see them fulfilled, it is time for me to cast 
my manners and rules of action over again. " I shall never believe 
it though, till I see it,'' as you say on another occasion. 

]My wife, who has read your letter with as much pleasure as I 
have done, unites with me in love to you and yours. * * 

The Governor (meaning Cabell,) and his wife, and Frank Grilmer 
gi-eet you kindly. 

Your friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

TO JUDGE CARR. 

Richmond, May 15, 1814. 
My dear Friend : 

I received, yesterday, your letter of the Gth instant, giving the dis- 
tressing account of the loss of your dear boy. It is a rude and dread- 
ful blow. But we are in the hands of a Being who governs the Uni- 
verse at His pleasure, and whose dispensations, I believe, however 
deeply they cut at the moment, are always destined to avert some 
greater calamity. You might have lost him at a more interesting age, 



Chap. XXI.] LETTER TO CARR. 331 

after those chords with which he had begun to take possession of your 
hearts had become more complete and more strong. You miglit have 
lost him under circumstances, and by a mode of death still more 
heart-reuding and distracting. My own sufferings from the death of 
friends and children have been so severe, that I have sometimes found 
myself rebelling against the author of all good, and arraigning both 
his justice and mercy. Parnell's Hermit &-st put me right on this 
subject; taught me to regard afflictions themselves "as blessings in 
disguise," and to kiss the rod with humble resignation. We have 
nothing else for it, my dear friend, in this life. We can neither stop 
nor change the course of events, much less can we recall them. To 
surrender ourselves to unavailing sorrow on account of the dispen- 
sations of Providence is, therefore, not the path which either reason 
or religion would point out to us. To mourn over such a loss as you 
have experienced, is, indeed, both natural and inevitable ; but to per- 
mit it to hang upon the heart and to weigh down the mind and spirits, 
is inconsistent with our duty, both to ourselves and others. You 
have excellent children, who are still spared to you. You and your 
wife are both young, and Heaven, I doubt not, will richly supply the 
place of the cherub who has been taken from you. How apt we are 
to aggravate our afflictions, by imagining that if we are not the only 
sufferers in the world, we are certainly the greatest ! Alas ! where is 
the man with a family who has not imagined the same thing of him- 
self! You know that I myself lost two of the best children in the 
world, within a mouth of each other ; one of them, too, a perfect beauty, 
and in the very age of fascination. My eyes, at this moment, fill at 
the recollection of that girl : but she is an angel in Heaven, and has 
escaped from all those sorrows and sufferings which continue to scourge 
us. G-od's will be done ! Let us submit ourselves to his power, wis- 
dom and goodness, confiding that, in his own good time and way, ho 
will bring good out of evil, and show us that we have mistaken a 
blessing for a curse. 

****** 

My wife begs IMrs. Carr to be assured of her sympathy. We pray 
Grod to bless you both. 

Farewell, 

Wm. Wirt. 

The next letter has reference to some opinions upon the merits of 
Cicero's works, which had been disparaged in the British Spy. It is 
addressed to a friend who resided at Menokin, in Richmond County, 
on the Rappahannock. 



332 LETTER TO LOJVIAX. [1814. 

TO JOHN TAYLOR LOMAX. 

Richmond, July 7, 1814. 
My dear Lomax : 

^ ^ • ^ Hi * * 

I would fain apply tliis recess of tlie Courts to my law books, and 
a preparation for the fall and winter campaign ; but I bavo not the 
courage. And so, having bought at Jock Warden's sale, Verbur- 
gius's folio edition of all Cicero's works, I have been brushing up my 
Latin and have read with great delight, his Orator and his Brutus. 
But my delight only continues while I have my eyes fixed on Cicero ; 
for the moment I turn them, by way of comparison, on the brightest 
of our own native models, my heart sinks and dies within me. What 
children we ai'e, my dear Lomax — what boys, and raw boys too, com- 
pared with that wonderful man ! I have once wronged him by the 
publication of an opinion concerning him ; but I hope to live to repair 
the error. Middleton, whose book I have also read since the courts 
rose, observes, that no man who has ever read Cicero's books on Ora- 
tory, will wonder that he has stood unrivalled to the present day ; for 
there never was, he says, and there never will be again, such a union 
of talents and of toil. If such glory could be carried by a coup de 
7nain, even at the risk of life, who would not aspire to it ? But to 
be able to effect it only by a siege for life, — and such a siege too, — 
not one day in every week, but every day devoted, and most enthu- 
siastically devoted, to the pursuit ! — it is enough to shake a much 
more constant man than me. "What say you to it ! You will say, 
perhaps, that in these war times I might be better employed than in 
reading Cicero. But ''I deny your hypothesis," as one of Judge 
Coalter's Scotch-L'ish acquaintances replied to a man who had given 
him the lie. The Legislature have dismantled my flying artillery, by 
I>rohibiting the Executive from supplying us with horses and other 
munitions of war, whereby they have driven me into the ranks of the 
militia again, and there I stand until the war comes to me. 

Oh, for an American Grcneral ! — What can we do without one, but 
erect monuments to our own folly and disgrace on the Canadian fron- 
tier ? Had we a commander worthy of our cause and of our people, 
the army would be the resort of character and talents, and we might 
once more '' put the British troops to school." As it is — Good Lord 
deliver us ! 

They say the hostages are delivered up ; — and, I suppose, we shall 
go on, in the sanguine hope of peace, acting as if that peace had al- 
ready taken place, till the Philistines be upon us. How far may the 
designs of England reach ? She has just seen France complete the 
circle of her llcvolution by returning to her old allegiance. May she 
not improve upon the hint in regard to us ? and want her American 
Colonies again, to preserve her balance against those great powers who 



Chap. XXL] EXTRAVAGANT OPINIONS. 333 

have been shaking Europe to its foundations ? May not our divisions 
foster such a project ? If she has such a project in her head, altliough 
perfectly chimerical, it will tend, I apprehend, to prolong the war, as 
well as to render it much more obstinate and bloody. 

* -K- * ^«- * * 

Your sincere and cordial friend, 

Wm. Wirt. 

The present generation will be amused at these speculations upon 
the purpose of England, in the war to which they refer. They are 
worthy of note, as expressing opinions and apprehensions which many 
seriously entertained in this country, — but which we can scarcely 
imagine ever found a place in the deliberations of a British cabinet. 
Between the war of the Eevolution and that of 1812, the interval, 
as it had not obliterated the animosity of the country against Eng- 
land, so, neither had it entirely removed the suspicion of a desire, on 
the part of our old enemy, to attempt the reconquest of her lost colo- 
nies when occasion might seem to favour the enterprise. The vestige 
of this sentiment left upon the minds of the people, somewhat re- 
sembles that connected with the Pretender, whose apparition distm-bed 
the dreams of Englishmen even at the date of the birth of George 
the Third. The lapse of time between the war of 1812 and the pre- 
sent day, amongst its miracles of national progress, has thrown this 
fancy of the reconquest, — if any sane man ever indulged it, — into the 
category of the most harmless of dreams ; with even less of the pro- 
bable in it than that counterpart prophecy, which we have heard in 
this our own day — " That man is now alive, with a beard upon his 
chin, who will see an American army reviewed Dy an American gene- 
ral, in Hyde Park." Let us hope that the guardian genius of the 
future destiny of two great nations, will keep such " toys of despe- 
ration" out of the minds of both ; and even confirm them in the vir- 
tuous faith, that peace and brotherhood have nobler triumphs than the 
vulgar glories of war. May their strength never be measured in more 
destructive contest than that which shall be seen in the rivalry of be- 
neficent acts and the exchange of the physical and intellectual wealth 
of civilization ! 

Francis Grilmer had now removed to Winchester, with an intent to 
commence the practice of the law. He was consigned by Wirt to the 
special guidance of his friend Carr. The following is an extract from 
a letter to the young practitioner on this occasion. 



334 LETTER TO GILMER. [1814. 

TO FRANCIS W. GILMER 

Richmond, July 13, 1814. 
My Dear Francis : 

I thank you for yours of the 14th, which I have just received. 
You magnify very much the slight favours which we have had it in 
our power to render you. Such as they are, they have been most 
cheerfully rendered ; and you have more than counterbalanced them 
by the pleasure of your society. 

* * * * * «■ * 

Your friends are all interested in your making a first-rate figure. 
Mediocrity will not content us. But this eminence is not to be 
reached per saltiim ; you will find it pretty much of an Alp-climbing 
business. The points of the rocks to which you cling will often break 
in your hands, and give you many a fall and many a bruise. Those 
who are in possession of the mountain before you, will annoy you not 
a little and increase the natural difiiculties of the passage. But, in- 
stead of despairing at the first fall, or at the twentieth, remember the 
prospect from the summit, and the rich prizes that await you, — wealth, 
beauty, glory. Above all, do not be disheartened at the high expec- 
tations which you know to be entertained of you, or too prompt to 
despond at your first failures and the slowness of your j)rogress. We 
all know that it is ''a rough roll and tumble^* gome in which you 
are engaged, and if you are thrown, (as thrown you will be, again and 
again,) you must up with a laugh, catch a better hold next time, and 
try it again. Do not calculate on feeling perfectly at your case in this 
gymnasium, under two or three years; and these, not two or three 
years of indolent hanging on, (from which you could learn nothing,) 
but of daily and arduous exercise and study. You know you have 
much yet to read, to fill up the outline which we had marked out for 
your preparatory studies. You must, especially, make yourself inti- 
mate with the Virginia reporters^ and feel at home in all the cases, so 
as to have, not only the principles, but the names of the cases ever 
ready. 

You cannot conceive how much the mastery of our State decisions 
will place you at your ease, and what vantage-ground it will give you, 
o^er the generality of your profession. The law is to many, at first 
and at last too, a dry and revolting study. It is hard and laborious ; 
it is a dark and intricate labyrinth, through which they grope in con- 
stant uncertainty and perplexity, — the most painful of all states of 
mind. ]>ut you cannot imagine that this was the case with Lord 
Mansfield, or with Blackstone, who saw the whole fabric in full day- 
light in all its projinrtious and lustre ; who were, indeed, the architects 
tliat helped to Imild it up. Although, at present, you walk, as it were, 
through the valley of the shadow of death, yet keep on, and you will 



Chap. XXL] CAMP LIFE. 335 

emerge into the bright and perfect day; and Ica^nng behind you the 
gropers, and bats, and moles, you will see the whole system at one 
glance, and walk like the master of the mansion, at your ease, into 
any apartment you choose. diem prreclarcm ! Then you Avill 
handle your tools, not only dexterously but gracefully, like a master 
workman, and add, yourself, either a portico, a dome, or an attic story 
to the building, and engrave your name on the marble, Proh spcetacu- 
lum ! But enough, and more than enough, to you who require rather 
the rein than the spur. I feel great anxiety for you, and am very 
anxious to hear of your debut. Avail yourself of the first favourable 
opportunity to make it ; taking full time for preparation, (but not for 
pompous preparation, which would ruin you ;) aud give me an inge- 
nuous account of the whole aifair. Remember in your preparations, 
that cnucleare does not signify to mash the kernel, and take out a 
part — but to take out the whole, neat and clean. 

;i; * * if; * >1; * 

We all join in love and best wishes to you. 

Adieu, 

Wm. Wirt. 

We shall now find some pictures of a militia campaign, in the fol- 
lowing extracts from a correspondence with Mrs. Wirt. The enemy 
had captured Washington on the 24th of August. The British fleet 
had descended the Potomac River, and was now in the Chesapeake 
Bay. Its destination remained unknown in Richmond, until the 
movement on Baltimore became apparent. The failure on Baltimore, 
on the 12th and 13th of September, animated the hopes of the people 
living in the vicinity of the Chesapeake, and increased their confidence 
in their power to repel an attack on any other point. A camp was 
formed below Richmond, on the York River, at a place known as 
Warrenigh Church. Wirt was there, a captain of artillery, in com- 
mand of a battalion. 

These extracts supply some incidents of camp life. 

Warrenigh, September 9, 1814. 

^' Your most seasonable supply, under convoy of our man Randal, 
came in last evening. The starving Israelites were not more glad- 
dened by the arrival of quails and manna than we were by the salu- 
tation of Randal. The fish would have been a superb treat, had 
there been such an article as a potato in this poverty-stricken land. 
And yet the parish, according to the old inscriptions, is called ' Bliss- 
land.' — The church was built in 1709. 



336 - CAMP LIFE. [1814. 

'' The British fleet are said to have descended the bay, or to be 
now doing so. There was a seventy-four at the mouth of York 
Kiver, day before yesterday. She weighed anchor, yesterday, and 
went up the bay." 

September 12. 

" Your kindness and thoughtfulness has filled my camp with luxury 
I fear we shall have no opportunity to become memorable for any 
thing but our good living — for I begin to believe that the enemy will 
not attempt Richmond. They are said to have gone up the bay on 
some enterprise. If they are hardy enough to make an attempt on 
Baltimore, there is no knowing what they may not attempt. We are 
training twice a-day, which doesn't well agree with our poor horses. 
We have a bad camping-ground — on a flat which extends two miles 
to the river — the water is not good, and the men are sickly. I shall 
want a tent, — about which Cabell must interest himself Let the 
materials be good, and have it made under Pryor's direction." 

September 13. 
" An express this morning tells vis that five square-rigged vessels 
are at the mouth of York River. It is conjectured that the British 
fleet is coming down the bay. Their object, of course, is only guess. 
Their position indicates equally an ascent of York or James River, or 
an attack on Norfolk, or a movement to sea to intercept Decatiu^'s 
squadron." 

September IG. 

" A letter last night from Cabell, with a good tent and some 
clothes — for which I beg you to thank him." 

******* 

September 19. 

" The struggle, I now believe, will be a short one. The invincibles 
of Wellington arc found to be vincible, and are melting away by 
repeated defeats. The strongest blows they have been striking have 
been aimed only at the power to dictate a peace. A few more such 
repulses as they met at Baltimore will extinguish that lofty hope, and 
we shall have a peace on terms honourable to us. 

" We have heard nothing from them since they left Baltimore : so 
that they cannot be yet coming this way, — and we are at a loss to 
coDJecture what they are at. 

" Our volunteers are becoming disorderly for want of an enemy to 
cope with. Quarrels, arrests, courts-martial, are beginning to abound. 
I have had several reprimands to pronounce at the head of my com- 
pany, in compliance with the sentence of the courts. To one of these, 
James, our man, held the candle — it being dark at the time; — and 
when I finished and turned round, the black rascal was in a broad 
grin of delight. I was near laughing myself at so unexpected a spec- 



Chap. XXI.] DISCONTENTS OF THE MILITIA. 337 

tacle. My men are all anxious to return home : — constant applica- 
tions for furloughs, in which Colonel Randolph indulges them liberally. 
At present I have not more than men enough to man two guns. One 
of my sergeants deserted this morning ; — another will be put under 
arrest presently. So much grumbling about rations, — about the want 
of clothes, — about their wives, — their business, debts, sick children, 
&e., &c., — that if I get through this campaign in good temper, I shall 
be proof against all the cares of a plantation, even as Cabell depicts 
them. 

" I am perpetually interrupted by the complaints of my men. 

Yet I do well, and, if they leave me men enough, I shall be prepared 
for a fight in a few days. We expect the enemy somewhere in Vir- 
ginia, to avenge their discomfiture at Baltimore." 

September 26. 

" Still at "Warrenigh, and less pi-obability of an enemy than ever. 
We are doing nothing but drilling, firing national salutes for recent 
victories, listening to the everlasting and growing discontents of the 
men, and trying their quarrels before courts-martial. I have endea- 
voured to give satisfaction to my company, so far as I could, com- 
patibly with discipline. My success, I fear, has been limited. In 
addition to their rations, which have been very good and abundant, I 
have distributed to the sick, with a liberal hand, the comforts which 
your kindness had supplied. The company is well provided with 
tents and cooking utensils, yet they murmur incessa.ntly. Such are 
volunteer militia when taken from their homes, and put on camp 
duty. One source of their inquietude is, that they thought they were 
coming down merely for a fight, and then to return. Being kept on 
the ground after the expectation of a battle has vanished, and not 
knowing how long they are to remain — looking every day for their 
discharge — they are enduring the pain of hope deferred, and manifest 
their disquiet in evei-y form. Of such men, in such a state of mind, 
in such a service, I am getting heartily sick. 

'^ I was never in better health, and were my men contented, I should 
be in high spirits. As it is, I shall bear up and discharge my duty 
with a steady hand. ***** 

Frank Grilmer, Jefi'erson Randolph, the CaiTS, Upshur, and others, 
have got tired of waiting for the British, and gone home. David 
Watson is the only good fellow that remains with us. He is a major, 
quartered at Abner Tyne's, — messes with us, — takes six pinches of 
snuiF to my one, which he thrusts two inches up his bellows nostrils, 
and smiles at the luxury of the efibrt. He is an excellent fellow, and 
has spouted almost all Shakspeare to us. You remember him as a 
contributor to the Old Bacheler. He, my second captain, Lambert, 
and my second lieutenant, Dick, make admirable company for me." 

Vol. I. — 29 w 



838 END OF THE CAMPAIGN. - [1814. 

September 28. 
'■'■ The Blues at IMontpelier are suffering mucli from sickness. Mur- 
phy, your brother John and his friend Elair are all down. The other 
companies are almost unofficered — the men very sickly. I strongly 
suspect that if we are kept much longer hovering over these marshes, 
our soldiers will fall like the grass that now covers them. We hope 
to be ordered in a few days to Richmond. It is believed on every 
hand that the British, with their mutinous and deserting troops, will 
not attempt a march on Richmond through the many defiles, swamps, 
thickets and forests that line the road, where, besides the abundant 
opportunities for desertion, nature has formed so many covers for our 
riflemen and infantry. =!;*** 

If we should be ordered to Richmond, I have no idea that my com- 
pany will be discharged. It will be kept there ready to march at a 
moment's warniDt!;." 



'O 



Here ends the campaign of Captain Wirt, and with it the last of 
his military aspirations. This little piece of history is a faithful tran- 
script of some of the most characteristic incidents of militia warfare 
in nearly all the service of the war of 1812. 

"I would not," says the author of this brief diary, in a subsequent 
letter to Mrs. W., '•' with my present feelings and opinions, accept of 
any military commission the United States could confer. * 

* * I will be a private citizen as long as I can see that, 

by being so, I shall be of use towards maintaining those who are 
dependent upon me ; holding myself ever ready for my country's call 
in time of need. * * * ^c 

" We shall soon see whether Lord Hill, who is expected on the 
coast with fourteen thousand men, will single out Virginia for his 
operations. My own impression is that he goes to the relief of Cana- 
da, which feels itself in danger from our recent successes there." 

Some business for a friend now took him to Washington. It was 
in October of this year — 1814. Congress was in session. The Capi- 
tol was in ruins, having been burnt by the enemy in August. The 
President's house was in the same condition. There were other ves- 
tiges of the ravages of the late visitation of General Ross and Admi- 
ral Cockburn. 

TO MRS. WIRT. 

Georgetown, D. C, October 14, 1814. 

" Here I am at Crawford's. * * j ^^^^ surrounded 

by a vast crowd of Legislators and gentlemen of the Turf, assembled 



Chap. XXL] VISIT TO WASHINGTON. 339 

here for the races which are to commence to-morrow. The races ! 
— amid the ruins and desohitiou of Washington. 

* ■ * * * * » 

" We reached here on Friday night. On Saturday, after washing 
off the dust of the journey, I sallied forth to the War Office, my busi- 
ness bciuo; with Colonel Monroe. He was not there. I went to look 
at the ruins of the President's house. The rooms which you saw so 
richly furnished, exhibited nothing but unroofed naked walls, cracked, 
defaced and blackened with fire. I cannot tell you what I felt as I 
w^alked amongst them. * * From this mournful 

monument of American imbecility and improvidence, and of British 
atrocity, I went to the lobby of the House of Representatives, — a 
miserable little narrow box, in which I was crowded and suffocated for 
about three hours, in order to see and hear the wise men of the nation. 
They are no great things. At five, to Monroe's, and was cordially 
received by him. 

^- -x- * * -x- 

" Last night I went to church, and heard a Mr. Inglis of Baltimore, 
deliver what I shoulcl call — not a sermon — but a very elegant oration 
in a theatrical style. The composition was rich, but I thought out 
of place ; his manner still more so. * * * 

" P and I called on the President. He looks miserably shat- 
tered and wo-begone. In short, he looked heart-broken. His mind 
is full of the New England sedition. He introduced the subject, and 
continued to press it, — painful as it obviously was to him. I denied 
the probabiHty, even the possibility that the yeomanry of the North 
could be induced to place themselves under the power and protection 
of England, and diverted the conversation to another topic ; but he 
took the fii-st opportunity to return to it, and convinced me that his 
heart and mind were painfully full of the subject. 

" The arrival of a despatch gave us an opportunity to retire. He 
invited us to dine with him, but we declined, having planned an excur- 
sion to Bladensburg, and, perhaps, Baltimore. * * 
We then went to the War Office. The Secretary kept me engaged 
in political conversation till four o'clock. By this detention, I lost 
a speech of the celebrated Webster, which I would not have lost for 
all the Secretary's eloquence. To-day, I go in the hope of hearing 
Pickering, — having declined the Bladensburg trip, in consequence of 
the importance of the debate. Tell Cabell to prepare for the tax : 
the direct tax will certainly be increased one hundred per cent. * 
* A hundred thousand regulars, and from twenty to thirty thou- 
sand provisional troops will be raised for defensive and offensive war. 
The war in Canada will be pushed with vigour. War between France 
and England is expected by the high powers here; — on what gx'ounds 
I have not learned." 



340 FIRST ENGAGEMENT IN THE SUPREIVIE COURT. [1814. 

This visit to the city of Washington was the commencement of a 
long and intimate connection -with affairs, both professional and poli- 
tical, on that theatre. Wirt was now about to become a practitioner 
in the Supreme Court. In a letter to Carr, dated Richmond, 10th of 
December, he refers to an engagement which may possibly bring him 
into a trial of strength with one whom he afterwards met in many 
a contest, and whose name at that day gave to the American bar its 
most brilliant light. This trial did not take place as soon as expected, 
but was deferred for another year. In the extract from this letter, 
which follows, we may see that the writer's mind has been touched 
by some presage of a connection with public life. 

I " Government, my friend, is but an up-hill work at best ; and not 
least, perhaps, this elective government of ours, where the public good 
is the last thing thought of by the Legislator — his own re-election 
being the first. What a stormy life is this of the politician ! What 
hardness of nerve, what firmness of mind and steadiness of purpose 
does it require to sit composedly at the helm, and ably at the same 
time ! Give me a life of literary ease ! This is, perhaps, an ignoble 
wish ; but it is, still, mine. Let those who enjoy public life ride in 
the whirlwind ! I covet not their honours, — although, if necessary, 
I li'ould not shrink from the duty. 

I have some expectation of going to Washington in February, to 
plead a cause. The preliminaries are not quite settled. Should they 
be so to my satisfaction, will you meet me there ? I shall be opposed 
to the Attorney-General, and, perhaps, to Pinkney. ' The blood 
more stirs to rouse the lion than to hunt the hare.' I should like to 
meet them." 

Mr. Pinkney had resigned the post of Attorney-General after hold- 
ing it about two years, and was succeeded, in February 1814, by Mr. 
Rush. We may note in the closing aspiration of this last extract, 
as a curious coincidence, that this wish is breathed by one who was 
destined to become the Attorney-General, and whose ambition was to 
meet in debate the combined powers of one who had been, and ano- 
ther who was then, the occupant of that high post in the Govern- 
ment. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

1815 — 1816. 

VISITS WASHINGTON TO ATTEND THE COURT. RETURNS. PEACE 

RESTORED BY THE TREATY OF GHENT. LETTER TO GILMER. — 

RESUMES THE BIOGRAPHY OP HENRY. DIFPICULTIES OF THIS 

WORK. SCANTINESS OF MATERIAL. THE AUTHOR WEARY OF 

IT. LETTER TO CARR ON THE SUBJECT. DABNEY CARR THE 

ELDER. — THE ORIGIN OF THE CONTINENTAL CONGRESS. PETER 

CARR. — LETTERS TO CARR AND GILMER. — GEORGE HAY RESIGNS 

THE POST OF DISTRICT ATTORNEY. WIRT RECOMMENDS UPSHUR 

TO THE PRESIDENT. — MODERATION OF POLITICAL FEELING. — MR. 

MADISON APPOINTS WIRT TO THE OFFICE. CORRESPONDENCE IN 

REFERENCE TO THIS APPOINTMENT. MAKES HIS DEBUT IN THE 

SUPREME COURT. ENCOUNTERS PINKNEY. — HIS OPINION OP 

PINKNEY. LETTER TO GILMER. LETTER TO CARR ON "THE 

PATH OF PLEASURE," AND HIS OPINION OF THIS DRAMATIC AT- 
TEMPT. — CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. JEFFERSON ON THE SUB- 
JECT OP THE BIOGRAPHY. — LETTER TO RICHARD MORRIS. 

I Wirt repaired to Washington soon after the date of the last letter. 
It seems, however, that the opportunity for his debut in the Supreme 
Court was postponed. He remained a few weeks at the capital, 
amused with the scenes it presented to him, and employing his time 
in extending his acquaintance with public men. __/ 

Early in 1815, peace was restored by the Treaty of Grhent, and a 
universal joy filled the heart of the country. Every one thought of 
getting '' back to busy life again" — happy that the stagnation to in- 
dustry, the waste of war and all the disorders of interrupted peace 
were to give place to the orderly pursuit of personal interest^. Wirt 
shared in this sentiment as warmly as any one, and betook himself 
with fresh ardour to his customary labours. 

We have here, another letter of professional admonition to his 
young friend. 

29 * (34L^ 



342 LETTER TO GILMER. [1815-1816. 

TO FRANCIS W. GILMER. 

Richmond, July 23, 1815. 
My dear Francis : 

We thank you for your affectionate favour of the 17th, from Albe- 
marle. Providence, I believe, is ordering every thing for the best for 
you. I do not know that we have much occasion to regret the dis- 
appointment of this trip of yours to Europe. Our friend Coalter is 
vociferous against it — and let me tell you, that his judgment is as 
solid as his native mountains, and moreover, that he takes a strong 
interest in your prosperity. You lose by it, imagination ? Create Dr. 
Johnson's ideal rival of perfection in the view of European models ; 
but can you not supply them by your own mind, and compete with 
it ? The which ideal rival is only Cicero's aliquid immensum, &c. 
You are to bear in mind, that we all have our eyes and our hopes 
upon you. You are to remember that glory is not that easy kind of 
inheritance which the law will cast upon you, without any effort of 
your own ; but that you are to work for it and fight for it, with the 
patient perseverance of a Hercules. You are also to bear in mind, 
that the friends who know and love you, and acknowledge your 
talents, are not the world. That in regard to the world, upon which 
you are entering, you are unknown ; that with them you have to make 
your way, as a perfect stranger. And that it is not by the display 
of your general science, that the herd is to be caught ; but by the 
dexterity with which you handle your professional tools, and the power 
which you evince to serve your clients in your trade. Now, the law 
depends on such a system of unnatural reasoning, that your natural 
reasoning, however strong, will not serve the turn. It is true, that 
when you once understand this artificial foundation, your natural 
reason will avail you much in applying it, and measuring your super- 
structure. 

But, in the first place, you must read, sir : — You must read and 
meditate, like a Conestoga horse, — no disparagement to the horse by 
the simile. You must road like Jefferson, and speak like Henry. If 
yoii ask me how you are to do this, 1 cannot tell you, but you are 
nevertheless to do it. There is one thing which I believe I have not 
mentioned to you, more than about five hundred times, which you are 
constantly to attend to — and in this you must respect my advice and 
follow it : let your debut be a decisive one ! ! ! Don't make your first 
appearance in a trifling case. Get yourself, either by a fee or volun- 
tarily, into tbe most important cause that is to be tried in Winchester, 
tit the fall term. Let it be such a cause as will ensure you a throng 
of hearers : — master the cause in all its points, of fact and law ; digest 
a profound, comprehensive, simple, and glowing speech for the occa- 



Chap. XXir.] PROFESSIONAL DEMEANOUR. 343 

sion — not strained beyond the occasion, nor beyond tlic capacity of 
your audience; — and make upon the world the impression of streno-th, 
of vigour, of great energy, combined witli a fluent, animated, nervous 
elocution; no puerile, out-of-the-way, far-fetched, or pedantic orna- 
ments or illustrations, but simple, strong, and manly — level yourself 
to the capacity of your hearers, and insinuate yourself among the 
heart-strings, the bones and marrow, both of your jury and back-bar 
hearers. I say jury — because I fear that a chancery cause, although 
it affords the best means of preparation, will give you no audience at 
all ; and I want you to blow your first blast, before a full concourse, 
both loud and shrill : — and hereof, I think, gentle reader, this little 
taste may suffice. 

Your notions of your indulgence in general science, are correct. 
Don't quit them — but let them be subordinate to the law. By-the- 
way, there is one thing I had liked to have forgotten. One of the 
most dignified traits in the character of Henry, is the noble decorum 
with which he debated, and uniform and marked respect with which 
he treated his adversaries. I am a little afraid of you in this par- 
ticular ; for you are a wit, and a satirist — God help you ! Take care, 
take care, take care of this propensity. It will make you enemies, 
pull a bee-hive on your head, and cover your forensic path with stings 
and venom. I pray you, aim at masking yourself v/ith Henry's dis- 
tinguished chai'acter for decorum. Let it be universally agreed, that 
you are the most polite, gentlemanly debater at the bar. That alone 
will give you a distinction — and a noble one too ; besides it is a strik- 
ing index, and proper concomitant of iii'st-rate talents. 

Don't forget your promise in regard to Mr. Jefferson, and the gal- 
lery of porti'aits. * * * * 

Continue to write to me. Heaven bless you. 

"Wm. Wirt. 

At this time the biography of Henry was resumed, with a stout 
resolve to bring it to a conclusion. We have abundant evidence that 
this had already grown to be a most irksome labour. 

The following letter to Garr playfully presents the difficulties of this 
undertaking, and shows how reluctantly Wirt struggled with his task. 
It contains also an allusion to Dabney Carr, the father of his friend, 
and the compatriot of Henry ; a gentleman most favourably known in 
the short legislative career to which we have heretofore adverted, and 
whose early death had blighted the promise of a fair renown. 

Mr. James AVebster, of Philadelphia, to whom also this letter has 
a reference, wns already engaged as the publisher of the forthcoming 



344 BIOGRAPHY OF HENRY. [1815—1816. 

volume, and had made some announcements of it to the public, which, 
it will be seen, had served to augment the author's disrelish of his 
enterprise. 

TO JUDGE CARR.* 

Richmond, August 20, 1815. 
I\Iy dear Friend : 

* * -x- -X- * -X- 

Now for Patrick Henry. I have delved on t;0 my one hundred and 
seventh page ;\ip-hill all the way, and heavy work, I promise you; 
and a heavy and unleavened lump I fear me it will be, work it as I 
may. I can tell you, sir, that it is much the most oppressive literary 
entcrj)rise that ever I embarked in, and I begin to apprehend that 1 
shall never debark fi-om it without " rattling ropes and rending sails." 
I write in a storm, and a worse tempest, I fear will follow its publi- 
cation. Let me give you some idea of my difficiilties. Imprimis, 
tlien, — I always thought that Bozzy ranted, in complaining so heavily 
of the infinite difficulty and trouble which he had to encounter in 
fixing accurately the dates of trivial facts ; but I now know by woful 
experience that Bozzy was right. And, in addition to the dates, I 
have the facts themselves to collect. I thought I had them all ready 
cut and dry, and sat down with all my statements of correspondents 
spread out before me; a pile of old journals on my right, and another 
of old newspapers on my left, thinking that I had nothing else to do 
but, as Lingo says, ''to saddle Pegasus and ride vip Parnassus.^' 
Such short-sightedness is there in " all the schemes o' mice and 
men :" for I found, at every turn of Henry's life, that I had to stop 
and let fly a volley of letters over the State, in all directions, to collect 
dates and explanations, and try to reconcile contradictions. Mean- 
time, until they arrived, " I kept sowing on." 

In the next place, this same business of stating facts with rigid 
precision, not one jot more or less than the truth — what the deuce 
has a lawyer to do with truth ! To tell you one truth, however, I 
find that it is entirely a new business to me, and I am proportionately 
awkward at it; for after I have gotten the facts accurately, they are 
then to be narrated happily ; and the style of narrative, fettered by a 
scrupulous regard to real facts, is to me the most difficult in the world. 
It is like attempting to run, tied up in a bag. My pen wants per- 
petually to career and frolic it away. But it must not be. I must 
move like Sterne's mule over the plains of Languedoc, "as slow as 
foot can fall," and that, too, without one vintage frolic with Nanette 
on the gi'cen, or even the relief of a mulberry- tree to stop and take a 
pinch of snuff at. I was very sensible, when I began, that I was not 
in the narrative gait. I tried it over and over again, almost as often 
us Gibbon did to hit the key-note, and without his success. I deter- 



Chap. XXII.] THE BIOGRAPHY OF HENRY. 345 

mined, therefore, to move forward, in hopes that my palfrey would 
get broke by degrees, and learn, by-and-bye, to obey the slightest 
touch of the snaffle. But I am now, as I said, in my hundred and 
seventh page, which, by an accurate computation, on the principles of 
Cocker, taking twenty -four sheets to the quire, and four pages to each 
sheet, you will find to exceed a quire by eleven. And yet am I as 
far to seek, as ever, for the lightsome, lucid, simple graces of narra- 
tive. You may think this affectation, if you please, or you may think 
it jest; but the dying confession of a felon under the gallows (no 
disparagement to him !) is not more true, nor much more mortifying. 

Tertio : The incidents of Mr. Henry's life arc extremely monoto- 
nous. It is all speaking, speaking, speaking. 'Tis true he could 
talk: — "Gods! how he could talk!" but there is no acting "the 
while." From the bar to the legislature, and from the legislature to 
the bar, his peregrinations resembled, a good deal, those of some one, 
I forget whom, — perhaps some of our friend Tristram's characters, 
" from the kitchen to the parlour, and from the parlour to the kitchen." 
And then, to make the matter worse, from 17G3 to 1789, covering 
all the bloom and pride of his life, not one of his speeches lives iu 
print, writing or memory. All that is told me is, that, on such and 
such an occasion he made a distinguished speech. Now to keep saying 
this over, and over, and over again, without being able to give any 
account of what tlie speech was, — why, sir, what is it but a vast, 
open, sun-burnt field without one spot of shade or verdure ? My soul 
is weary of it, and the days have come in which I can say that I have 
no pleasure in them. I have sometimes a notion of trying the plan 
of Botta, who has written an account of the American war, and made 
speeches himself for his prominent characters, imitating, in this, the 
historians of Greece and Rome ; but I think with Polybius, that this 
is making too free with the sanctity of history. Besides, Henry's 
eloquence was all so completely sui generis as to be inimitable by any 
other : and to make my chance of imitating him still worse, I never 
saw or heard him. Even the speeches published in the debates of 
the Virginia convention ai'e affirmed by all my correspondents, not to 
be his, but to fall far short of his strength and beauty. Yet, in spite 
of all this monotony and destitution of materials, we have a fellow 
coming out iu the Analectic Magazine, or the Baltimore Commercial 
Advertiser, I forget which, — for both have been at it, — exciting the 
public expectation on this very ground, among others, of the copious- 
ness and variety of the materials within my reach ! Those puifs mean 
me well, but I could wish them a little more judgment. 

Again : there are some ugly traits in H.'s character, and some 
pretty nearly as ugly blanks. He was a blank military commander, 
a blank governor, and a blank politician, in all those useful points 
which depend on composition and detail. In short, it is, verily, as 
hopeless a subject as man could well desire. I have dug around it, 



346 DABNEY CARR THE ELDER. [1815—1816, 

and applied all the plaster of Paris that I could command ; but the 
jBg-tree is still barren, and every bud upon it indicates death instead 
of life. " Then, surely, you mean to give it up V On the contrary. 
I assure you, sir : I have stept in so deep that I am determined, like 
Macbeth, to go on, though Henry, like Duncan, should bawl out to 
me, " Sleep no more I" I do not mean that I am determined to 
publish. No, sir; unless I can mould it into a grace, and breathe 
iuto it a spirit which I have never yet been able to do, it shall never 
see the light; ]Mr. Webster's proposals to the contrary notwithstand- 
ing. But what I have determined upon is to go on as rapidly as I 
can to embody all the facts : then, reviewing the whole, to lay it off 
into sections, by epochs, on Middleton's plan; and, taking up the 
first section, to make a last and dying effort upon it per se. If I 
fail, I surrender my sword : if otherwise, I shall go forth, section 
after section, conrjuering and to conquer. And if the public forgive 
me this time, I will promise never to make a similar experiment on 
their good-nature again. 

With regard to your father (Dabney Carr), I had predetermined 
to interweave the fact you mention. Judge Tucker has furnished me 
the incident. " It was at this time, February, 1772," says the 
Judge, " that Mr. Carr made a motion to appoint standing committees 
of correspondence with the other colonies, on the subject of the act 
of Parliament imposing duties on glass, oil and painters' colours." 
The appointment of committees of safety took place in 1775, after the 
organization of the old Congress, to which, you say, your father's 
motion led. In regard to the committees of correspondence with the 
other colonies. Judge Marshall gives Massachusetts the credit of the 
invention ; though, I suspect, what Massachusetts did invent, — judg- 
ing from Marshall's note 10, cited page 149 of his second volume, — 
was nothing more than town committees within that colony,* and 
that the credit of committees of correspondence, connecting the Colo- 
nies, really belongs to Virginia. I shall communicate with Marshall 
on this subject, and wish you would do so with Mr. Jefferson. I 
should myself write to this latter gentleman, but I have already 
written to him so often and so much, in the course of my troubles 
with Patrick, that I am really ashamed to annoy him farther, though 
I have much and frequent occasion for it. 

I wish I knew something more specifically of your father's cast of 
character, in order that I might take this opportunity of giving him 

* This point, upon further investigation, was settled in the establishment 
of an equal claim on the part of the two States to the origination of the 
oominittees In the Life of Henry, page 37, the author asserts in a note : 
"The measures Vvcre so nearly coeval in the two States, as to have ren- 
dered it impossible that either could have borrowed it from the other. The 
messengers who bore the propositions from the two States are said to have 
crossed each other on the way.'' 



Chap. XXII.] A SKETCH OF IIIM. 347 

tlie best niche that my poor jaded pen could form. I have only a 
gent imI impression that he \yas much such a man as it is easy to con- 
ceive y 'ur brother Peter* would have been, had his industry and 
enterpi'ise been equal to his genius. Open, noble, magnanimous; 
bold, ardent, and eloquent; with a mind rather strong than acute; 
rather comprehensive and solid in his views than remarkable for sub- 
tilty of discrimination ; disposed and qualified to lay hold of and plant 
himself on great principles, rather than to run divisions among 
minutitx) ; with an understanding highly cultivated, a rich imagination, 
a refined and classical taste, a full and melodious voice, and a copious 
command of the most pure and nervous language. If this would be 
sajnng too much or too little, let me be corrected, for I have set out 
with the purpose of telling the truth, the lohole truth, and nothing 
hit the truth, at least in this book ; though I should be very unwilling 
that the world should know how awkward I am at it, and how much 
pain I have in the delivery, for they would certainly discover that it- 
is my first operation of the kind ; nor should I be astonished if some 
rascally reviewer should make just this very remark ; which, being 
true, would be no joke at all to me, and might make every body else 
laugh except " Mr. Cullender's counsel." 

* -Sf «■ «■ * * 

Webster vexes me not a little by the style of his proposals, tacking 
to my name, "Author of the British Spy." His motive is obvious 
enough ; but the world will consider it as my act, and think it a 
vanity, — which I abhor. Again, he adds, in his proposals to the Life 
of Henry, " together with several of his speeches." Now his only 
authority for this is that I told him I had once seen Henry's '' speech 
on the British debts" in manuscript, taken by a stenographer, and 

* Peter Carr, here alluded to, and whose character is portrayed in such 
terms of discriminate praise, was the eldest brother, as we have seen, of 
the Judge. He had died but a few months before this date. There is a 
touching allusion to this event in a letter to Judge Carr, written almost im- 
mediately after it. 

" His soul, I hope, is happier even than it was on earth. It is among the 
articles of my creed that he is an unseen witness of our sorrow for his loss. 
Notliing remains for us, my dear friend, but to remember him, to love him, 
and to gratify his spirit, if it be conscious of what passes on earth, by 
drawing closer in our affections for each other. Some one friend or other 
is continually dropping from us; and this must be the case while we remain 
in tliis state of being. Let us, then, who are permitted to survive, endea- 
vour to repair these heart-rending losses, by loving each other more dearly, 
and clinging more closely together. 

"I am not a misanthrope; yet, I fear, it is not often that we shall meet 
with men worthy to succeed, in our afiections, to those whom we havo 
lost, or to become partners in that friendship which binds the few survivors 
together." 



348 LITERARY REPUTATION. [1815—1816. 

might, perhaps, be able to get it again. He will disappoint the public 
in this particular. 

Hark ye, — does not Fame depend on the niuIlUude of readers and 
approvers ? I mean literary fame. And if so, what kind of works, 
on what kind of subjects, give a man the fairest chance for this afore- 
said fame ? 

Now, put on your considering-cap, and get upon your wool-sack. I 
ask again, now that you are seated, and your " head like a smoke- 
jack," what kind of writings embrace the widest circle of readers, and 
bid the fairest to flourish in never-fading bloom ? Answer : Well- 
written works of imagination. If you say political works, count the 
readers of Locke and Sidney, and compare them with those of Shak- 
speare, Milton, Dryden, and Pope. If you choose to come down to 
the present day, compare the readers of Hamilton and Madison with 
those of Walter Scott and Lord Byron. If you choose to institute 
the comparison between grave history and the lighter works of ima- 
gination, you will find ten to one in favour of the latter. Robertson's 
Charles Fifth, for example, and Tristram Shandy. 

I am not speaking of the grade or quality of this fame, but of the 
spread, the propagation and continuity of the article. " But I would 
rather have a small quantity of the first gi-ade than a large quantity 
of the second." Perhaps you would. All I shall say about it is, de 
guslihts iron est dispuiandum. I would rather have a thousand 
dollars in bank-notes, earned by innocent pleasure, than a hundred 
guineas in gold, procured by marshing and ditching. 

Besides, as to the grade itself, I am not quite so clear that the man 
of whom it was truly said, 

"Each change of many-coloured Hfe he drew, 
Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new," 

does not deserve a fame as high and rich as the man who relates suc- 
cessfully the crimes of nations, or disentangles ever so dexterously the 
political skein. This being the case, suppose a man to write for fame, 
what course should he take ? What says the chancellor ? More 
especially if the writer be so encumbered by a profession as to have 
only a few transient snatches of leisure which he can devote to literary 
pursuits. You see what I am driving at, I presume, — and '' there- 
fore there needs no more to be said here." 

We unite cordially in love. 

Yours, ever, 

Wm. Wirt. 



Ohap, XXII.] LETTER TO GILMER. 349 

TO FRANCIS W. GILMER. 

*■ Richmond, August 29, 1815. 

My dear Francis : 

I received last niglit your letter of the ISth inst., announcing your 
arrival at Winchester, and thank you for this early attention to my 
anxiety for your welfare. We have you at last fairly pitted on the 
arena, — stripped, oiled, your joints all lubricated — your muscles 
braced — your nerves strung ; and I hope, that ere long we shall hear 
you have taken the victim bull by the horn, with your left hand, 

Jurosqiie reducta 



Libravit dextra media inter cornua csestus 
Avduus, effractoque illisit in ossa ceiebro. 
Steinitur, exanimisque tremens procumbit humi bos. 

I pei'ceive that you ai'e going to work, pell-mell, nee mora, nee 
requics : — that's your sort — give it to them thicker and faster ! 

Nunc dextra ingeminans citus, nunc ille sinistra. 

It is this glow and enthusiasm of enterprise that is to carry you to 
the stars. But then bear in mind, that it is a long journey to the 
stars, and that they are not to be reached per saltum. " Perseverando 
Vinces," ought to be your motto — and you should write it in the first 
page of every book in your library. Ours is not a profession, in which 
a man gets along by a hop, step, and a jump. It is the steady march 
of a heavy armed legionary soldier. This armour you have yet, in a 
great measure, to gain ; to learn how to put it on ; to wear it without 
fatigue ; to fight in it with ease, and use every piece of it to the best 
advantage. I am against your extending your practice, therefore, to 
too many courts, in the beginning. I would not wish j^ou to plunge 
into an extensive practice at once. It will break up your reading, and 
prevent you from preparing properly for that higher theatre which you 
ought always to keep intently in your mind's eye. 

For two or three years, you must read, sir — read — read — delve — 
meditate — study — and make the whole mine of the law your own. 
For two or three years, I had much rather that your appearances 
should be rare and splendid, than frequent, light and vapid, like those 
of the young country practitioners about you. 

Let me use the privilege of my age and experience to give you a 
few hints, which, now that you are beginning the practice, you may 
find not useless. 

1. Adopt a system of life, as to business and exercise ; and never 
deviate from it, except so far as you may be occasionally forced by 
imperious and uncontrollable circumstances. 

Vol. I. — 30 



350 RULES FOR BUSINESS. [1815—1816. 

2. Live in your office ; i. e., be always seen in it except at tte 
hours of eatins; or exercise. 

3. Ans'R'er all letters as soon as they are received ; you know not 
how many heart-aches it may save you. Then fold neatly, endorse 
neatly, and file away neatly, alphabetically, and by the year, all the 
letters so received. Let your letters on business be short, and keep 
copies of them. 

4. Put every law paper in its place, as soon as received ; and let 
no scrap of paper be seen lying for a moment, on your writing chair 
or tables. This will strike the eye of every man of business who 
enters. 

5. Keep regular accounts of every cent of income and expenditure, 
and file your receipts neatly, alphabetically, and by the mouth, or at 
least by the year. 

6. Be patient with your foolish clients, and hear all their tedious 
circumlocution and repetitious with calm and kind attention; cross- 
examine and sift them, ^till you know all the strength and weakness 
of their cause, and take notes of it at once whenever you can do so. 

7. File your bills in Chancery at the moment of ordering the suit, 
and while your client is yet with you to correct your statement of his 
case ; also prepare every declaration the moment the suit is ordered, 
and have it ready to file. 

8. Cultivate a simple style of speaking, so as to be able to inject 
the strongest thought into the weakest capacity. You will never be 
a good jury lawyer without this faculty. 

9. Never attempt to be grand and magnificent before common 
tribunals ; — and the most you will address are common. The neglect 

of this principle of common sense has ruined with all men of 

sense. 

10. Keep your Latin and Crreek, and science, to yourself, and to 
that very small circle which they may suit. The mean and envious 
world will never forgive you your knowledge, if you make it too 
public. It will require the most unceasing urbanity and habitual 
gentleness of manners, almost to humility, to make your superior at- 
tainments tolerable to your associates. 

11. Enter with warmth and kindness into the interesting concerns 
of others — whether you care much for them or not; — not with the 
condescension of a superior, but with the tenderness and simplicity 

of an equal. It is this benevolent trait which makes and 

such universal favourites — and, more than any thing else, has smoothed 
my own path of life, and strewed it with flowers. 

12. lie never flurried in speaking, but learn to assume the exterior 
of composure and self-collectedncss, whatever riot and confusion may 
be within ; speak slowly, firmly, distinctly, and mark your periods by 
proper pauses, and a steady significant look: — ''Trick!'' Time, — 
but a good trick, and a sensible trick. 



Chap. XXII.] LETTER TO CARR. 351 

You talk of complimenting your adversarie.s. Take care of your 
manner of doing tlJis. Let it be humble and sincere, and not as if 
yrai thought it was in yoiir power to give them importance by your 
fiat. You see how natural it is for old men to preach, and how nuich 
easier to preacli than to practise. Yet you must not slight my ser- 
mons, for I wish you to be much greater than I ever was or can hope 
to be. Our friend Carr will tell you that my maxims are all sound. 
Practise them, and I will warrant your success. You have more 
science and literature than T ; — but I know a good deal more of the 
world and of life, and it will be much cheaper for you to profit by my 
experience and miscarriages than by your own. Nothing is so apt to 
tincture the manners of a young man with hauteur, and with a cold 
and disdainful indiifcreuce towards others, as conscious superiority; 
and nothing is so fatal to his progress through life, as such a tincture : 

witness . My friend himself, is not without some ill eifcct 

from it ; and since you must feel this superiority, I cannot be without 
fear of its usual effects. 

You must not suppose because I give you precepts on particular 
subjects, that I have observed you deficient in these respects ; on the 
contrary, it is only by way of prevention ; nnd whether my precepts 
are necessary to you or not, you are too well assured of my affection 
to take them otherwise than in good part. Farewell — my letters 
shall not all be lectures. 

• Yours affectionately, 

Wm. Wirt, 

TO JUDGE CARR. 

Richmond, January 12, 1816. 
My ever dear Friend : 

* H= 5)S * * * 

I have, indeed, had a tough spell through the latter part of the 
fall. It was the effect, I believe, of a very severe cold, which I feared, 
at one time, had fallen on my lungs, from the ugly and obstinate 
cough which attended it ; and there were times, I confess, when the 
apprehension of being taken from my family just when my toils and 
plans seemed ripening to a harvest of independence for them, de- 
pressed me rather more than became a philosopher or a Christian, — 
which, however much I wish, I fear I shall never approach nearer, 
than a few transient aspirations. 

As for Patrick, — he is the very toughest subject that I ever coped 
withal. If I have any knack at all in writing, it is in copying after 
nature : not merely in drawing known characters, but in painting the 
images in my own mind, and the feelings of my heart. In this walk, 
I have occasionally succeeded almost to my own entire satisfaction 



352 THE BIOGRAPHY. [1815— 181C. 

But Patrick was altogether term incognita to me. I had never seen 
him ; and the portraits of him which had heen furnished me were so 
various and contradictory as to seem to confound rather than inform 
mc. Hence I have never been able to embody him. My imagina- 
tion found no resting j^lacc throughout the whole work ; but from be- 
ginning to end, fluttered like Noah's dove over a dreary waste of 
waters, without spjang even a floating leaf of olive, much less of laurel. 
AVhat I wrote without satisfaction, it is reasonable to conclude will be 
read in the same way. Disappointed myself, I am very certain that 
I shall disappoint others. But this conclusion has now become fa- 
miliar to me, and the pain is over. You are wrong, be assured, my 
dearest friend, in supposing that this work will redound more to my 
fame than any thing I have ever written. It is not every subject on 
which a man can succeed : — " ex quovis ligno," you know. — If I am 
not mistaken, this subject would have been found impracticable to any 
one ; that is, nothing great could have been made of it in narrative. 
A panegyric, and a splendid one, too, of a dozen pages might be 
Written on it, but the detail must be trivial if the incidents be truly 
told. In truth, I hate excessively to be trammelled in writing, by 
matter of fact. Don't be so mischievous as to mistake me. I mean 
that my habit of composition has always been to draw only from my 
own stores, with my fancy and my heart both as free as the winds. 
Reined in by the necessity of detailing stubborn facts, I find that the 
gaits of my Pegasus are all to be formed anew ; for he trots, prances 
and gallops altogether in the same period. If you do not understand 
me now, you must wait till I can borrow an exposition from Philoso- 
pher Ogilvie. But before we dismiss Pati-ick finally, you will find in 
the Port Folio for December, an extract from my biography, furnished 
at the desire of Hall, the editor, and you will see in that extract what 
has heen thought by several, who have read the manuscript, one of 
the happiest passages if not the happiest passage, in my book, from 
which you will judge of the miserabilUy of the rest. 

No, the work is not in the press. It shall not go until I can get 
leisure to file off" some of its asperities, I wish to heaven, you could 
see it ! — and it shall go hard, but you shall, before it passes to the 
press; for I am in no hurry to be damned. 

The candid and sensible reader will, indeed, as you say, allow for 
the subject ; but of the thousands of readers on whom fame depends, 
how many are there, think you, who are sensible and candid ? how 
many will there be, predisposed to dash my tliimblefull of reputation 
from my lips ? But enough of this — for if I keep prating about it, 
I shall confirm you in the conjecture that it is preying on my spirits. 
I give you my word that I have not said or thought so much about it 
for two months, as I have since I began to scribble this letter. 
* * * * * * 

I am noW; sir, in full and high health ; not quite indeed so brim- 



Chap. XXII.] MR. UPSHUR. 353 

ful of expectation as I was when you first knew me, about twenty 
years ago, but still with a reasonable appetite for the good things of 
the world. Disappointed indeed, as to some of my calculations of 
happiness, yet by no means disposed to cry out with Solomon, '^ all is 
vanity and vexation of spirit." If Solomon had had such a wife and 
children, and such friends as I have, he would have changed his note. 
His exclamation upon the vanity of all sublunary things, has always 
struck me rather as the sentiment of a cloyed and sated debauchee, 
than that of a contemplative philosopher. What vanity or vexation 
of spirit is there in the temperate indulgence of our affections ; in the 
love-beam that plays upon me from the eyes of my wife ; in the un- 
tutored caresses of my beloved children; in these tender inquiries 
from the best of friends which lie before me ; or in this tear, which 
the consciousness of these purest of earthly possessions calls into my 
eyes? If on subjects of this sort Solomon was wise, let me remain 
a fool. What say you ? 

^ * * * * * 

]My wife and children unite with me in love to your fire-side. 
If you know what heartfelt pleasure your letters afford me, and 
enjoy the leisure which I hope you do, you would write to me soon 
and often. 

May God bless you and make you happy ! 

Your friend in life and in death, 

Wm. Wirt. 

About this time George Hay, the attorney of the United States 
for the Richmond district, resigned his post. Amongst several gen- 
tlemen of Virginia whose names were submitted to Mr. Madison for 
the appointment to this office, was that of one who subsequently at- 
tained to high distinction in the public councils, and whose death ac- 
quired a most painful celebrity by its association with the melancholy 
accident on board of the Princeton — Abel P. Upshur.- He had 
studied law under the direction of Wirt, who now presented him to 
the President, in terms suggested by the highest appreciation of his 
talents, and by a strong personal friendship. This incident is only 
worthy of notice here, so far as Mr. Vfirt's letter, on the occasion, 
affords us an insight to the abated temper of partisan feeling which 
had already begun to be manifested, and which was an index to that 
calm and appeased political sentiment which prevailed in _ the admin- 
istration of public affairs for some years succeeding this event. After 
speaking the language of the warmest praise on the merits of his 
friend, he adds, — " It is proper for me to state that he is a Federal- 
30* X 



354 WIRT APPOINTED DISTRICT ATTORNEY. [1815—1816. 

ist/' — but to qualify this draw-back, he continues — " he justified the 
late war with Great Britain, and was among the volunteers who 

marched to York Town to meet the enemy. 

* * "I am entirely certain that no differences 

of political sentiment would ever swerve him from his duty, or abate, 
in the smallest degree, the zeal proper for its discharge. How far, 
in the present condition of the country, his political creed ought to 
operate as a har to his appointment, or whether its tendency icould 
not rather he to soothe the exasperation of ^Jar/?/, and j)romote the 
coalescence ichich is so desirable on every account, and of lohich we 
have such promising omens, it is not for me to decide. I submit the 
proposition with great deference, and rely upon your usual indulgence 
to excuse this liberty." 

This letter to Mr. Madison was written on the 10th of JIarch, 
1816. The writer of it was a little surprised to find, by a letter from 
Mr. Madison to him, dated on the loth, that the subject had been 
already settled by the selection of himself for the appointment. 
It was an event altogether unlocked for, and equally undesired. 
Coming upon him in this unexpected way, and with expressions of 
the kindest personal interest from the President, the appointment 
somewhat embarrassed him ; but, after deliberating, he thought it his 
duty to accept it. 

In communicating this determination to the President, he says, in 
a letter of the 23d of MarcR, — ''I beg you to believe me unaffect- 
edly sincere in declaring that there is nothing in the office which ex- 
cites any solicitude, on my part, to possess it ; and that I feel myself 
much more highly honoured by the terms in which you were so good 
as to make the inquiry, than I should by the possession of the office 
itself. So far am I, indeed, from being solicitous to possess it, that I 
assure you, with the frankness which I hope our long acquaintance 
warrants, your bestowing it on any one of the many gentlemen of my 
profession in this State who are, at least, equally entitled to it, and 
stand, perhaps, in greater need of it, will not, in the smallest degree, 
mortify me nor diminish the respect and affection with which I am 
and ever have been your friend." 

It was but a few weeks before the date of these letters, that Wirt 
had argued his cause in the Supreme Court, and had "broken a lance 
with Pinkney," — as he himself described it. 



Cha7. XXII.] WILLIAM PINKNEY. 355 

These two gentlemen had here commenced an acquaintance, which 
was afterwards illustrated by many passages of dialectic and forensic 
skill in a course of eager competition and constant association in the 
same forum. No one was more prompt to do justice to Pinkncy's ex- 
traordinary abilities, after the best opportunities to observe them, than 
Wirt. Ilis matm'c opinion of his great competitor was freely ex- 
pressed, and well known in the circle in which they both moved. But 
Wirt's first impressions of him, derived from this trial, are singularly 
variant from those which a more intimate acquaintance afterwards 
gave him. We have a letter to Gilmer, soon after this fii'st encounter, 
which presents a picture of Pinkney, far from flattering. Pinkney 
was, at that time, in the zenith of his fame. He was the chief ob- 
ject of interest in the Supreme Coui-t, and the most prominent sub- 
ject of popular criticism. No man ever drew forth a larger share of 
mingled applause and censure, or was visited with more exaggerated 
extremes of opinion. While one class of observers saw in his oratory 
nothing short of the most perfect of forensic accomplishment; another 
could scarcely find merit enough in his best endeavours to rescue them 
from the utter condemnation to which they alleged his dogmatism, 
false taste and frigid aiFectations entitled them. Impartial and judi- 
cious estimate- of his power and acquirements seems rarely to have 
been accorded to him. 

We may ascribe these conflicting judgments to some peculiarities 
in Pinkney's character and position. At the bar, his port towards 
those who occupied the most eminent station was antagonistical and 
defiant. He waged with all such an unceasing war for supremacy. 
He gave no ground himself, and asked no favours. His courtesy in 
this arena was a mere formula, and rather suggested conflict than 
avoided it. His manner was alert and guarded, his bi-ow severe, his 
civilities short and measured, like a swordsman in the theatre when 
the "noble art of defence" drew crowds together to witness the trials 
of skill. All this portion of the bar, constituting a most intelligent 
and critical auditory, were the fastidious and unsparing witnesses of 
his fome, and often spoke of him, in no mitigated terms of exception 
to whatever defect of taste or judgment they were able to detect. 
Opposed to these were the younger members of the profession, not 
yet within the pale of rivalry, to whom Pinkney was habitually 



356 WILLIAM PINKNEY. [1815—1816. 

coui-teous and kind. It seemed to be a cherished object of bis to win 
the good-will of this class of bis professional associates. He was to 
them tbe pleasant companion, full of condescensions and small civili- 
ties. He noticed their progress, praised their efforts, instructed, 
encouraged them, and almost invariably enlisted them in tbe support 
of his own renown. He was an eager sportsman in the field, untiring 
in a day's work with his gun; an excellent shot, and studiously 
learned in all the technicals of this craft. This gave him acceptance 
and favour amongst another circle. He was profuse and splendid in 
his mode of living, utterly careless of expense, munificent and osten- 
tatious. He was popular as a political champion, and rendered good 
service to his cause in some noted contests in Maryland, in which he 
was accustomed to meet the most effective champions of a party dis- 
tinguished for its talents and intelligence. He had acquired a high 
standing in tbe country for bis diplomatic service, which bad elevated 
him, in public opinion, both at home and abroad. He had served 
with conspicuous success as the Attorney-General of the United 
States, in the administration of Mr. IMadison. He was a zealous and 
ardeijt supporter of the war; had taken a commission from the Ex- 
ecutive of Maryland, and commanded a rifle-battalion at the time of 
the invasion of the capital, and shared in the disaster at Bladensburg, 
where he was wounded in the fight. All these circumstances com- 
bined to draw upon him a large portion of public observation, and to 
attract, on one side, as much exaggerated praise, as, on another, to 
expose him to the virulence of partisan antipathy, or to the invidious 
reflection of personal rivalry and dislike» 

Pinkney's first accost raised an unfavourable prepossession in Wirt's 
mind against him, as will be seen in the following letter, from which 
I make some extracts; premising, what I have already hinted to the 
reader, that these opinions were greatly modified when the writer of 
this letter had more full opportunity to witness and appreciate tbe 
power of his opponent. We may regard the present comments as 
expressing the disappointment of one who had formed his judgment 
of oratory in an entirely different school from that of which he was 
now furnished a specimen. Nothing could be more diverse than the 
distinctive characters of the eloquence of Pinkney and Wirt. The 
slow consent of one to admit the eminent claim of the other, was but 
u natural reluctance of opinion. 



Chap. XXII.] WIRT'S FIRST ESTIMATE OF HIM. 357 

TO FRANCIS W. GILMER. 

Richmond, April 1, 1816 
My dear Francis : 

-V. -v. -V. ij _v. .j^, 

" I wish I had been trained to industry and method in the counting- 
room of a Scotch merchant from the age of twelve, and whipped out 
of those hizy and sauntering habits which fastened upon me about that 
age, and have held "the fee-simple of the bark" ever since. Yotir 
truly great man docs more business, and has more leisure and more 
peace of conscience, and more positive happiness, than any forty of 
your mediocre persons. This is humiliating to me, and I don't like 
to think of it. But, do you profit by it, and habituate yourself to the 
practice of jMr. Jefierson's system. * * Make the 

axle glow with the ardour of jowy exercise, and the anvil ring with 
the vigour of your preparation. Teach these boys, as Pinkney said 
he Avould do, ' a new style of speaking.' But let it be a better one 
than his ; I mean his solemn style, to which, in Irish phrase, I give 
the back of my hand. If that be a good style, then all the models, 
both ancient and modern, which we have been accustomed to contem- 
plate as truly great, — such as Crassus, Antony, Cicero, the prolo- 
cutors of the Dialogue 'De Causis con-uptn3 eloquentia3,' Chatham, 
Henry, and others, — not forgetting 'Paul Jones and old Charon,' — 
are all pretenders. I know that this is not your opinion. But I was 
near him five or six weeks, and watched him narrowly. He has 
nothing of the rapid and unerring analysis of Marshall, but he has, in 
lieu of it, a dogmatizing absoluteness of manner which passes with 
the million, — which, by-the-bye, includes many more than we should 
at first suspect, — for an evidence of power ; and he has acquired with 
those around him a sort of papal infallibility. That manner is a 
piece of acting : it is artificial, as you may see by the wandering of 
his eye, and is as far removed from the composed confidence of 
enlightened certainty as it is from natural modesty. Soci'ates con- 
fessed that all the knowledge he had been able to acquire seemed 
only to convince him that he knew nothing. This frankness is one 
of the most characteristic traits of a great mind. Pinkney would 
make you believe that he knows every thing. 

" At the bar he is despotic, and cares as little for his colleagues or ad- 
versaries as if they were men of wood. He has certainly much the 
advantage of any of them in forensic show. Give him time — and he 
requires not much — and he will deliver a speech which any man might 
be proud to claim. You will have good materials, very well put 
together, and clothed in a costume as magnificent as that of 'Louis 
XIV. ; But you will have a vast quantity of false fire, besides a vehe- 
mence of intonation for which you see nothing to account in the cba- 



358 SELF-CRITICISM. [1815—1816. 

racter of the thought. His arguments, when I heard him, were such 
as would have occurred to any good mind of the profession. It was 
his mode of introducing, dressing and incorporating them, which con- 
stituted their chief value — ' materiem superabit opus.' * * 
* * lu the cause in which we were engaged 
against each other, there never was a case more hopeless of eloquence 
since the world began. It was a mere question between the repi-e- 
sentatives of a dead collector and a living one, as to the distribution 
of the penalty of an embargo bond : — whether the representatives of 
the deceased collector, who had performed all the duties and recovered 
the judgment, or the living collector, who came in about the time the 
money was paid by the defendant into court, and had, therefore, done 
none of the duties, was entitled to the award. I was for the repre- 
sentatives of the deceased collector — Pinkney for the living one. You 
perceive that his client was a mere harpy, who had no merits whatever 
to plead. There were ladies present — and Pinkney was expected to 
he eloquent at all events. So, the mode he adopted was to get into 
his tragical tone in discussing the construction of an act of Congress. 
Closing his speech in this solemn tone, he took his seat, saying to me, 
with a smile — 'that will do for the ladies.' * * * 
He is certainly not of the olden school." 

As a counterpart to this, we have a criticism of himself in the same 
cause, in a letter to Carr ; with some comment, besides, on his drama- 
tic experiment, in regard to which his friend had shown himself a 
rather partial judge. 

TO JUDGE CARR. 

Richmond, April 7, 1816. 

And can you, my beloved friend, who have known the very bottom 
and core of my heart so long and so intimately, — who have had a 
home in that heart for twenty years, suspect for one moment, any 
decay of my affection for you ? No ! I cannot believe it possible. 
Indeed, the very tone of this letter, which I have just received from 
you, assures me of the reverse, notwithstanding some half-insinuations 
to the contrary. The truth is, if I had been satisfied with my own 
figure at Yv'^ashington, you would have heard from me on the spot ; 
but I was most dissatisfied. And good reason I had to be so — for it 
was a mean and sneaking figure I made in that cause; — and your 
friends either deceive you from kindness, or have been deceived them- 
selves. I was never more displeased with any speech I have made 
since I commenced practice. Having once argued the cause here, to 
my .satisfaction, I relied upon my notes for recalling every topic to 
my mind ; and this the more especially, as the Court of Appeals held 






Chap. XXII.] HIS ENCOUNTER WITH PINKNEY. 359 

nie under the lasli to the very moment of my departure. But heboid, 
when I was about to set out, my notes were nowhere to he found. 
]My only hope then was that I shoukl be able to recall the ai'guiucMits 
by meditation in the stage } and I determined to be very sour, sulky 
and silent to my fellow- passengers, that I might abstract myself from 
them and have an opportunity of study; hut this, you know, is not 
in my nature — and so I reached Alexandria without one idea upon 
the subject. My consolation then was, that I should have one day in 
Washington before the cause came on, — and to effect this, I left Alex- 
andria when the stage arrived, at about ten o'clock on Tuesday night, 
and went to Washington that night. I got to McQueen's about eleven. 
j In two minutes after. Dr. F. came in, so delighted to see me, that I 
j could not find it in my heart to resist his earnest desire that I would 
sit with him and have a talk, because he had much to say to me of 
deep import to himself, and had been longing for my arrival, that he 
might unbosom himself to me. He thus kept me up till two o'clock. 
Immediately after breakfast I retired to my room, borrowed the 
acts of Congress, on which my cause arose, and had just seated my- 
self to study, when several of ray warm-hearted friends rushed into 
my room and held me engaged ^till court hour. So it was again in 
the evening; and so, on Thursday morning. In this hopeless situa- 
tional went to court to try the tug of war with the renowned Piuk- 
ney. When I thought of my situation, — of the theatre on which I 
was now to appear for the first time, the expectation which I was told 
was excited, and saw the assembled multitude of ladies and gentle- 
men from every quarter of the Union, you may guess my feelings. 
Had I been prepared, how should I have gloried in that theatre, that 
concourse, and that adversary ! As it was, my dear wife and chil- 
dren, and your features, look, and sympathetic voice and friendly in- 
quietude, came over me like evil spirits. To be sure, these conside- 
rations gave me a sort of desperate, ferocious, bandit-like resolution : 
but what is mere irute resolution with a totally denuded intellect? I 
gave, indeed, some hits which produced a visible and animating effect; 
but my courage sank, and I suppose my manner fell, under the con- 
scious imbecility of my argument. I was comforted, however, by 
finding that Pinkney mended the matter very little, if at all. 

Had the cause been to argue over again on the next day, I could 
liave shivered him ; for his discussion revived all my forgotten topics, 
and, as I lay in my bed on the following morning, arguments poured 
themselves out before me as from a cornucopia. I should have wept 
at the consideration of what I had lost, if I had not prevented it by 
leaping out of bed and beginning to sing and dance like a maniac, — 
to the great diversion of F., who little suspected what was passing iu 
my mind. 

This is all true. I know you will abuse me for it, hut it is true 
etill ; and I had rather be abused than to deceive you. 



360 DESIRES TOPRACTISE IN SUPREME COURT. [1815—1816. 

I must somehow or other contrive to get another cause in that court, 
that I may show them I can do better. I should like to practise 
there. For although you say, you believe I do not know my own 
strength, you will change that opinion when I tell you I am not afraid 
of any man on that arena, — not even of the Chevalier Pinkney, 
whom I would at any time rather encounter than Tazewell. Pinkney 
has, for the while, debauched the public taste by a false manner, just 
as Quin and his coadjutors of the old stage did, according to Cum- 
berland's account. The misfortune is, that there is no Garrick at 
Washington to raise the standard of nature. As to myself, I know 
that I have no pretensions to oratory. My manner, never carefully 
formed, has become too unalterably fixed to be improved at my time 
of life. Besides, I have not the off-hand fertility of thought, the 
prompt fecundity of invention, and the extemporaneous bloom of ima- 
gination, which are all essential to the orator. But I say again that, 
nvtli full prcj)aration, I should not be afraid of a comparison with 
Pinkney, at any pointy before genuine judges of correct debate. Now 
think me over-modest, if you can. 

I regret extremely that the time of session of our Court of Ap- 
peals disables me from attending the Supreme Court : but if our 
Court adopt a plan which they talk of, — that is, of having a summer 
and fall session, — I will try my luck at Washington as soon as I can 
get a cause or two, by way of commencement. So much for this 
great affsiir. ***** 

I protest against j^our measuring me by the standard of Sheridan. 
He was a diamond wit, not only of the first water, but of the highest 
polish. He had the advantage of a constant attendance at the first 
theatre in Europe, where he saw the public taste tried by every variety 
of application. Compared v/ith his, my opportunities are those of a 
back-woods' bear-hunter, measured with those of the courtly Wick- 
ham. I am about as fit to rival Sheridan as a bat a towering eagle. 
I foresaw, from your frequent mention of Sheridan, what your mind 
was running on. If you have looked for his invention of comic inci- 
dents, his percussion and re-percussion of sjmghtly and brilliant dia- 
logues, his delicate and varied tints of wit and humour, his splendid 
flashes of fancy, you have been unreasonable, and are therefore justly 
punished by disappointment. 

******* 

I need not tell you how sincerely I rejoice in the brilliancy of 
Frank's debut. The plainness of his manner, in particular, charms 
me. I was a little afraid he would be too fond of the pomp of cx- 
2)ression though I never doubted that experience and his own sound 
judgment would correct the error. That he should have gone off 
right, is, therefore, so much the more pleasing. He is a fine fellow, 
and born, I hope, to redeem the eloquence of the State. * * 

Your friend, 
L Wm. Wirt 



Chap. XXII.] LETTER TO MR. JEFFERSON. 861 

The biogi-apliy was now approaching its completion. The author 
was manifestly disheartened by his work. His letters to his intimate 
friends are full of distrust upon the merits of his performance. He 
seems to have indulged this sentiment so far as almost to meditate the 
abandonment of the publication of the book. The counsel of Mr. 
Jefferson and others, cheered him, revived his confidence, and finally 
settled the point of committing the volume to the public. 

The following letters upon this subject, furnish some curious pas- 
sages in literary history. 

TO THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

Richmond, August 24, 1816. 
Dear Sir : 

I accept, with gratitude, the terms on which you are willing to re- 
mark on my manuscript; and send, herewith, three sections, ninety- 
one pages. 

There will be an advertisement prefixed to it, stating the authorities 
on which the narrative is founded, and appealing to the candour and 
indulgence of the public on account of the peculiar disadvantagea 
under which the work has been written. 

This, I confess, is a kind of beggarly business which I abhor very 
touch ; but I can still less bear to have it believed that the work is 
the offspring of profound leisure, and a mind at ease ; when the truth 
is that no one sheet of it, scarcely, has been written without half a 
dozen professional interruptions, which have routed my ideas as com- 
pletely, each time, as Don Quixote's charge did the flock of sheep. 
I make no doubt you will perceive the chasms caused by these in- 
terruptions, and the incoherence, as well as crudeness, of the whole 
mass. 

When I was engaging with "Webster, last summer, with respect to 
the publication, I refused expressly to bind myself to furnish it at 
any particular period, — foreseeing the extreme uncertainty as to the 
time of its completion, from the interference of professional duties, 
and wishing to reserve to myself, also, full leisure, to revise, correct, 
and retrench at pleasure. But he has made such an appeal to my 
humanity, on account of the expensiveness of the materials which 
he has laid in for the publication, and his inability to remain longer 
without some reimbursement, that I am much disposed to let the work 
go, in its present general form, if you think it can be done without 
too much sacrifice. 

What I mean is, that I think the whole work might be recast tu 
advantage. But then, it must be written wholly anew, which ^ould 
ill suit Webster's alleged situation : my disposition, therefore, is to 

Vol. I— 31 



362 CORRESPONDENCE WITH JEFFERSON. [1815— 181S. 

let the form of the work remain, connecting the composition, state- 
ments, &c., where it shall be suggested and thought proper. 

If you think the publication of the work, will do me an injury with 
the public, I beg you to tell me so, without any fear of wounding my 
feelings. I am so far from being in love with it myself, that I should 
be glad of a decent reti-eat from the undertaking. I confide implicitly 
in your frankness and friendship, — and beg you to believe me, dear 
sir, with the greatest respect and aifection, 

Your friend and servant, 

Wm. "Wirt. 



THOMAS JEFFERSON TO WILLIAM WIRT. 

MoNTicELLo, September 4, 1816. 
Dear Sir : 

I have read, Avith great delight, the portion of the history of IMr. 
Henry which you have been so kind as to fovour me with, and which 
is now returned. And I can say, from my own knowledge of the 
contemporary characters introduced into the canvass, that you have 
given them quite as nuich lustre as themselves would have asked. 
The exactness, too, of your details has, in several instances, corrected 
the errors in my own recollections, where they had begun to falter. 

In result, I scarcely find anything needing revisal ; yet, to show 
you that I have scrupulously sought occasions of animadversion, I 
will particularize the following passages, which I noted as I read them. 

Page 11 : I think this passage had better be moderated. That 
Mr. Henry read Livy through once a year is a known impossibility 
with those who knew him. He may have read him once, and 
some general history of Greece; but certainly not twice. A first 
reading of a book he could accomplish sometimes and on some sub- 
jects, but never a second. He knew well the geography of his own 
country, but certainly never made any other his study. So, as to our 
ancient charters; he had probably read those in Stith's history; but 
no man ever more undervalued chartered titles than himself. He 
drew all natural rights from a purer source — the feelings of his own 
breast. * * .1: * >i; * ;;< 

He never, in conversation or debate, mentioned a hero, a worthy, 
01' a fact in Greek or Iloman history, but so vaguely and loosely as to 
leave room to back out, if he found he had blundered. 

The study and learning ascribed to him, in this passage, would be 
mconsistent with the excellent and just picture given of his indolence 
through the rest of the work. 

Page 33, line 4 : Inquire further into the fact alleged that Henry 
was counsel for Littlepage. I am much persuaded he was counsel for 
Dandridge. There was great personal antipathy between him and 
Littlepage, and the closest intimacy with Daudridge, who was his 



Chap. XXII.j CORRESPONDENCE WITH JEFFERSON. 363 

near neighbour, in whose house he was at home as one of the family, 
who was his earliest and greatest adiaircr and patron, and whose 
' daughter became, afterwards, his second wife. 

It was in his house that, during a course of Christinas festivities, I 
first became acquainted with ]\Tr. Ilenry. This, it is true, is but pre- 
sumptive evidence, and may be over-ruled by direct proof But 1 
am confident he could never have undertaken any case against Dan- 
dridge ; considering the union of their bosoms, it would have been a 
great crime.* ****** 

Accept the assurance of my constant friendship and respect. 

Tii. Jefferson. 

In a reply to this letter, Wirt, in sending Mr. Jefierson some addi- 
tional portions of the book, remarks : — 

" I can tell you, with very great sincerity, that you have removed a 
mountain-load of despondency from my mind, by the assurance that 
you could find entertainment in these sheets. * * 

" I entreat you not to spare your remarks on account of the deface- 
ment of the manuscript. I had rather commence it de novo than 
lose the advantage of your freest criticisms. If you think the narra- 
tive too wire-drawn, or the style too turgid — points about which I 
have, myself, strong fears — I depend on your friendship to tell me so. 
Much better will it be to learn it from you, in time to correct it, than 
from the malignity of reviewers, when it shall be too late." 

Some weeks after this, he wrote the following : 



WILLIAM WIRT TO THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

Richmond, October 23, 1816. 
Dear Sir : 

I now submit to you the last sheets of my Sketches of Mr. Henry, 
which I am sorry to find more numerous than I expected ; and I pray 
you to forgive the great trouble which I am sincerely ashamed of 
having imposed on you. 

Your remarks have been of great service to me, not only by 
enabling me to correct mistakes in fact, but by putting me on a 
severe inquisition of my style, which, I am perfectly aware, is too 
prone to exuberance. 

I am afraid that the whole plan is too loose, and the narrative too 
difiuse. Has it struck you in this light, and do you think it would 
gain, in point of animation and interest, by retrenchment and com- 
pression ? 

* There were other corrections, of minor errors, suggested in this letter, 
which are omitted. 



364 THE BIOGRAPHY OF HENRY. [1815—1816. 

I have another question to ask, to which I entreat an unreserved 
answer j and I hope you think too well of my understanding to sup- 
pose that I shall be hurt by the answer, whatever it may be. Would 
you, as a friend, advise me to publish this book, or not ? 

It has been written under circumstances so extremely disadvan- 
tageous, amid such perpetual interruptions ai'ising from my profession 
— at almost every step, too, invita m/nen'ff,— and I peruse it myself 
with so little satisfaction, that I am seriously apprehensive ifc may 
make shipwreck of what little reputation I possess as a writer. 

I am not obliged to publish ; and I shall be governed, on this head, 
by the advice of my friends, who must, from the nature of things, be 
much better qualified to judge of the subject than I am. They, I 
hope and believe, think too justly of me to withhold the expression 
of their opinions from motives of delicacy. 

Your repose shall never be endangered by any act of mine, if I can 
help it. Immediately on the receipt of your last letter, and before 
the manuscript had met any other eye, I wrote over again the whole 
passage relative to the first Congress, omitting the marks of quotation, 
and removing your name altogether from the communication. 

If there be any other passage for which I have quoted you, and 
which you think may provoke the strictures of malice or envy, I beg 
that you will be so good as to suggest it. I am conscious of having 
made a very free use of your communications. It was natural for me 
to seek to give this value to my work. But it would be most painful 
to me to be, in any manner, instrumental in subjecting you to the re- 
newed attacks of your political enemies. It is not enough for me 
that you despise these attacks : I have no right, much less have I the 
disposition, to make this call upon your fortitude. And, besides, the 
shaft which cannot reach you, never fails to wound and irritate your 
friends. This was one of the leading causes which made me anxious 
to submit my manuscript to you Jirst. 

Quere. — Have I not quoted some passages from you, of which the 
descendants of our landed aristocracy may take it into their heads 
to complain? 

This did not occur to me till Mr. William H. Cabell (than whom 
you have not a warmer friend) made the suggestion. I have great 
dependence on his judgment ; and if the matter occurs to you in the 
same light, I will send up again the sheets which contain those quota- 
tions, and get the favour of you to alter them to your own taste. 

You will perceive that I have borne very lightly on the errors of 
Mr. Henry's declining years. He did as much good in his better 
days; and no evils have resulted from his later aberrations. Will 
not his biographer, then, be excusable in drawing the veil over them, 
and holding up the brighter side of his character, only, to imitation ? 
Most respectfully and affectionately. 

Your friend and servant, 

Wm. Wirt. 



\\ 



Chap. XXII.] MR. JEFFERSON'S OPINION OF IT, 365 

THOMAS JEFFERSON TO WILLIAM WIRT. 

Poplar Forest, November 12, 1816. 
Dear Sir : 

Yours of October 23d, was received here on the 31st, with the last 
sheets of your work. 

They found me engaged in a business which could not be postponed, 
and have therefore been detained longer than I wished. 

On the subject of our ancient aristoracy, I believe I have said 
nothing which all who knew them will not confirm, and which their 
reasonable descendants may not learn from every quarter. It was 
the effect of the large accumulation of property under the law of 
entails. 

The suppression of entails reduced the spirit of the rich, while the 
increased influence given by the new government to the people, raised 
theirs, and brought things to their present level, from a condition 
which the present generation, who have not seen it, can scarcely be- 
lieve or conceive. 

You ask if I think your work would be the better of retrench- 
ment ? By no means. I have seen nothing in it which could be 
retrenched but to disadvantage. And again, whether, as a friend, I 
would advise its publication ? On that question, I have no hesitation 
— on your own acccount, as well as that of the public. To the latter, 
it will be valuable ; and honourable to yourself. 

You must expect to be criticised ; and, by a former letter I see you 
expect it. By the Quarterly Reviewers you will be hacked and hewed, 
with tomahawk and scalping-knife. Those of Edinburgh, with the 
same an ti- American prejudices, but sometimes considering us as allies 
against their administration, will do it more decently. 

They will assume, as a model for biography, the familiar manner 
of Plutarch, or scanty matter of Nepos, and try you, perhaps, by these 
tests. But they can only prove that your style is different from 
theirs ; not that it is not good. 

I have always very much despised the artificial canons of criticism. 
When I have read a work in prose or poetry, or seen a painting, a 
statue, etc., I have only asked myself whether it gives me pleasure, 
whether it is animating, interesting, attaching ? If it is, it is good 
for these reasons. On these grounds you will be safe. Those who 
take up your book, will find they cannot lay it down ; and this will 
be its best criticism. 

You have certainly practised vigorously the precept of " de mortuis 
nil nisi bonum.^' This presents a very diSicult question, — whether 
one only or both sides of the medal should be presented. It consti- 
tutes, perhaps, the distinction between panegyric and history. On this, 
opinions are much divided — and, perhaps, may be so on this feature 
of your work. On the whole, however, you have nothing to fear ; at 
least, if my views are not very different from the common. And no 



366 LETTERS TO POPE AND MORRIS. [1815—1816 

one will see its appearance vnth. more pleasure than myself, as no one 
cau, with more truth, give you assurances of great respect and affec- 
tionate attachment. „ t 

iH. Jefferson. 

I close this chapter with two letters, in part referring to the bio- 
graphy. The first is to Mr. Pope ; the other to an esteemed friend 
in Hanover county, whose taste and accomplishments rendered him 
a most competent critic upon the subjects to which it refers. They 
both give us an insight into the author's apprehension of the perils 
to which he was about to expose himself by the publication of his 

book. 

TO WILLIAM POPE. 

RiciLMOND, September 24, 1816. 
My dear Friend : 

Although over my head in business, I cannot receive, in silence, 
your affectionate letter of the 12th. I have been hitherto very un- 
grateful, — in appearance, though not in feeling and in fact, — for those 
effusions of friendship with which you have honoured me by mail ; 
but I have relied on your indulgence and forgiveness, knowing as you 
do how my head is kept spinning by the multiplicity and variety of 
my engagements ; and I have relied, too, on your knowledge of the 
true state of my sentiments towards you, to prevent any unfriendly 
conclusions from apparent neglect. For you know that my affections 
can never neglect you ; you know that of all the mortals I have ever 
encountered in this pilgrimage, you are " the Israelite without guile," 
and the tenant of my heart's core ; so why should we say more upon 
this subject ? 

I am extremely gratified by the pleasure you express, in reading 
those pages of my manuscript. I am dashing on, and hope to close 
my toils before the 10th of next month. Many a weary league have 
I travelled with old Patrick. I wish my readers may be willing to 
travel after me ; for, in truth, " I don't think it clever, much ;" and 
if they are only half as much fatigued in reading as I have been in 
writing it, adieu to Lochaber ! — " Othello's occupation 's gone I" As 
for you and Bullock and Clarke, (for Clarke has been here, too, with 
swimming eyes,) you are all so partial to the subject and the writer, 
that there is no forming any conclusions as to the probable opinion 
of the world, from your feelings. " In this cold world of ours," as^ 
the song goes, I must expect a very different reception, — captious 
criticism and a predisposition to find fault. But the die will soon be 
finally cast, and we shall know our fate with certainty. As to J. T , 
I shall do my duty, and let him do his worst, Patrick shall have jus- 
tice, if I cau give it to him, let who will be offended, — and after that, 
" the hardest must fend off." 

I wish I could accompany you to sec the two generals : — they are 



Chap. XXII.] LETTERS TO POPE AND MORRIS. 367 

both favourites with me, — but I must decline all visiting for this fall. 
Business first, and then pleasure, is my maxim. And this same 
biography has encroached so much on my professional duties, that I 
shall be hard put to it to bring up the lec-way. But as to our trips 
to Norfolk and Washington, I shall call upon you to keep your pro- 
mise when the time comes. I wish I may not then find you " a fairy 
promiser of joy." If we live till next fall, and all is well, I hope 
we shall be able to make out a visit to our friend Dabncy Carr iu 
Winchester. What say you to that ? Think of the grandeur of the 
mountains, and the fertility of the valleys, and the transparency of 
the limestone water, and of the pleasure our friends there will have 
in seeing us. Dabney and Frank Grilmer, Henry Tucker's long 
chin, and Hugh Holmes' wide mouth, not forgetting those thick lips 
of his, employed iu singing the celebrated old English ballad of " The 
pigs," &c. 

We are all well, except our infimt, who has been very sick, but 
thank Heaven, is now nearly restored. My wife and children unite 
with me in affectionate compliments to Mrs. P., Lucy Ann, and your- 
self; and I am, as I ever have been, " your loving friend till death 
us do part." Wm. Wirt. 

WILLIAM WIRT TO RICHARD MORRIS, ESQ. 

Richmond, January 19, 1817. 

" You are heartily welcome, brother Shandy, though it were twice 
as much :" — but are you not a shabby fellow, to return the manu- 
script, without aiding me with a single criticism ? If I thought you 
considered me so paltry a fellow as to be wounded by the strictures 
of my friends, I should renounce- you extempore. I will not permit 
myself to suspect this, because it would pain me much if one who 
knows me so well should thmk so ill both of my modesty and under- 
standing. 

Sir, had you appealed to my friendship in a like case, I would have 
given it to you, " hip and thigh." " Yom- book," I would have said, 
sir, (if I had thought so) " may do well enough in Virginia, where 
the subject itself has interest enough to keep your chin above the 
water: but in other states, and more especially in foreign parts, I 
doubt you will be damned. You have not the style of narrative — 
your manner is not familiar and easy enough — ^your sentences rickety 
and stiff-jointed; — besides, there are too frequent efforts to give im- 
portance to trifles. You will pardon me, but your book abounds with 
many striking specimens of the false sublime ; — your incidents are 
not detailed with sufficient spirit ; — they are frequently encumbered 
with a C[uantity of trite historical lumber, which causes the narrative 
to drag, and the reader to yawn. We lose sight of Henry in wading 
through your marshes. The speeches that you give as his, contradict 
your own pompous descriptions of his eloquence. Upon the whole, 
I must confess that I was painfully disappointed ia your work ; — there 



368 HIS COMPLAINT OF HIS FRIENDS. [1815—1816. 

are parts of it, to be sure, wTiicli gratified me, — but as a whole, trust 
uie, it is but a poor thing — and neither calculated to advance the fame 
of the author or of his hero." And then, sir, I would have proceeded 
to give specifications of these charges. For instance : — " page 40, 
paragraph the 2d : — much ado about nothing — it sounds to me very 
much like nonsense." — " Page 60 — paragraph the 1st : — this is in- 
tended for pathos — the Dutcli pronounce the word bathos," &c., &c. 
" Finally, sir, my advice to you, as a friend, is not to publish the 
book ; believe me, it will rob you even of the little standing you have, 
and cheapen both IMr. Henry and yourself in the public estimation." 
This is the way, sir, I should have treated you — and I should have 
expected you to cry "thank'e?" at eveiy slash of my surgical knife. 
Now, Morris, whether you will believe me or not, the hypothetic 
strictures which I have just made, are, in sober sadness, the very re- 
marks to which I fear my book is liable. Yet no one will tell me so, 
till I read them in some review. From those of my friends who are 
more remarkable for warm and affectionate hearts than acuteness of 
intellect, I look naturally for eulogium only ; and I have not been 
disappointed — their partiality for me blinding them to the faults of 
the work. Even from friends of greater acuteness, I should not be 
surprised if a false and unkind delicacy for my feelings, should dis- 
pose them to conceal their objections. But you are one of those men 
from whose sturdier and nobler cast both of friendship and character, 
I expected to hear the naked truth, with all the frankness, and even 
bluntness, of Kent in Shakspeare's Lear. Instead of which, you 
come out upon me with a short letter, which, to be sure, is most kind 
and obliging, but which deals in generals^ and gives me no specific in- 
struction whatever. Sir, you are not to escape me thus. I have you 
up before the court, a witness upon oath, and I will torture you by 
cross-examination 'till I get the whole truth out of you : — so you might 
as well let it come at once. Cast your eyes, then, upon the aforesaid 
hypothetic strictures, wherein, if you will take the trouble to ana- 
lyze, you will discover a spe.cificat'wn of my own doubts and fears on 
this subject. Answer me to these, head by head, on the oath you 
have taken — " and then proceed with a statement of all you know 
respecting the points in issue." If you do not this, I shall say you 
are no better than you should be. * * * 

Will you tender to Mrs. Morris my affectionate compliments — and 
request her, in my behalf, to make you answer this letter as early as 
your convenience will permit, promising her, in return, that though / 
have suffered a temporary relapse to the heresy of snuff-taking, I will 
not give you a pinch without her consent. 

Grod bless you, 

^88 ^ ^^^' ^^"^'^- 



)EC 231949 



END OF VOL. I. 



o 



'■^^. 


"^A 


■^ 
•^ 




•^°^. 












%^' 


^ ^ 








'■'■f 


.^^^■■ 












/ 


\„ 




\\ \ I ft , 


•^?- 




^ ^ 


A^ 














-0- 


C 






^^.- V^' 




'^oo^ 








V*' 


^'""^^ 




^^' 


^^.. 








°^, 




CO 




^^ 


1 ■'^-i>t- . ^ '^ 






^ 






■\ 


.,<^^' 








'% 


"^Z- 


f 


*^^\ 


1 1 


K . '''>., 




^^ 0^ 






K 


1.- 




'-^ 


■ 


^^^ "-. 




^^q. 


t- 




,/ 


•^^. 


■->, 












0> 




"V- ' ^ . . 








'■/^i- 








^ 








C' 












•->, 



,\N' 



H -t. 



.<^ -% 



-^^ ' 









% %^- 



A^ 



> <p. 






.x^ 



> ^', 



•J"'. 



V ,^N 






•".!' ^<i> 






■^^ ^^. 



